Knights of the Old Republic: Redemption
by Sillimaure
Summary: The story of Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, told primarily from the viewpoint of a certain Republic soldier and sometime smuggler.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 – A Promise

_Dreams. _

_Dreams of betrayal. _

_Dreams of death, destruction, pain. _

_A star fighter, soaring through the endless black of space. A dozen fighters. A hundred. Thousands. A battle fought high above a planet, a vicious engagement in an impassable jungle and a stealthy infiltration, deep behind enemy lines. _

_Blaster fire incinerating entire legions. And behind it all, the hiss and buzz of lightsabres leaving scores of burning dead in their wake. _

_A large battle rages. Turbolaser fire illuminates the blackness of space. Smaller ships dart in between the larger, incinerating each other with brief flashes of exploding air tanks and detonating ordinance. Capital ships charge into the fray, turbolasers blazing death in an endless assault. _

_In the distance, a large cruiser crumbles under the onslaught, and explodes in a brief, but brilliant, flash of light. Pieces of the cruiser radiate out in all directions, creating a minefield of hazardous wreckage for the dueling fighters. The two sides ignore the lives suddenly snuffed out in their midst and continue to hammer away at each other. _

_A smaller battleground: a room… larger than a room… the bridge of a ship. Lightsabre wielding foes, blaster firing soldiers, all locked in a titanic struggle. _

_A face. The face of a woman, a young woman, still in her teens. Even in the dream, her dark hair, cobalt blue eyes and fine, almost delicate aristocratic features vividly clear. _

_She wields a lightsabre expertly, her motions a blur, the lightsabre spinning in the air. _

_Across her blade, a dark robed figure, face hidden behind a cloth scarf, brings his red lightsabre across her yellow blade. Together, yet apart. Locked in a fierce battle, an intricate dance from which only one will walk away. _

_They are not alone. All around them, a battle rages, two sides striving for dominance, countless lives hanging in the balance. _

_The buzzing clash of lightsabres rings out as the fierce mêlée rages unchecked. The young Jedi remains locked in combat with the masked Sith, her face a mask of concentration, her cobalt eyes locked on her opponent. Lightsabres flash and the young Jedi parries an aggressive stroke expertly, responding with a series of well placed slashes which force her opponent back. _

_Pressing her attack, the young Jedi dodges an overhand stroke from her opponent, knocks the glowing red lightsabre aside and runs the Sith through all in one smooth motion…_

_

* * *

_

Jaran Kalind's eyes opened suddenly and he looked around him, completely disoriented after his dream. It took him a moment to recognize his surroundings: the drab grey walls, two narrow bunks and sparse furnishings of the small dormitory. He was on a starship, the Endar Spire, but in his current state of confusion, summoning more than that insignificant piece of information seemed beyond his capacity.

He had always experienced exceptionally vivid dreams, especially since signing on to the Republic fleet late in the Mandalorian Wars. Even though a young soldier of only 23, he was a veteran of many campaigns, first with the Republic against the Mandalorians and more recently against the traitors, Revan and Malak, who had turned against the Republic in frenzy of death and destruction. He often dreamed of the battles in which he had fought; relived them in exquisite detail, even years after they had taken place. The strange thing about this particular dream, however, was the fact that it corresponded with no battle in which he could remember ever taking part. He had never met the young Jedi in his dream either, a fact of which he was completely certain due to his exceptional memory for faces. It was almost as though this memory was an intruder, a projection into his subconscious mind from an outside source. Yet it had been so vivid, as real as his memories of the Mandalorian Wars and even more vivid than the more recent Jedi Civil War.

Jaran frowned at the sudden thought. The fact was that the battles which had taken place early in his career as a soldier were clearer and more vivid than the most recent against the Jedi traitors. Those memories were far more indistinct, most taking on an almost surreal quality. Why that would be so, Jaran had no idea. It was almost as though fighting for freedom against the Mandalorians was much more real than this hopeless war – a war which had deteriorated into an endless rearguard action against the constant pressure exerted by the new traitorous Sith lords.

Jaran's thoughts were cut off as a fighter screamed past the small window of his cabin, closely pursued by another with guns blazing. Abruptly he realized what had woken him from his slumber, as another explosion rocked the ship.

The Endar Spire was under attack.

Jaran felt his body become suddenly weightless as he floated up off his bunk, only to be deposited roughly onto the deck once the ship's auxiliary generator kicked in, restoring artificial gravity to the wounded vessel.

The damage, however, had been done. Jaran realized immediately that the explosion must have taken out the ship's engines, as he could no longer feel their familiar hum. Looking quickly out the window, he could see stars moving past his vision in lazy circles, followed immediately by a planet, which appeared at the bottom of the window and slowly made its way toward the top. The ship's stabilizers were clearly knocked out as well and the ship was spinning out of control.

Still unable to completely clear the fog from his head, Jaran understood that the crippled vessel would only invite Sith boarding parties and that his currently unclad state would be no help in fighting off the invaders, if such a thing were indeed possible. Quickly he made his way to his footlocker and scanned the contents.

Obviously, for the Endar Spire to have been damaged so severely, they must be outnumbered and outgunned. Since the possibility of abandoning ship had to be considered, he rejected his Republic uniform as too obvious and easy to spot if he had to blend in with a civilian population. Instead, he chose a set of serviceable, yet inconspicuous, clothes, which would prevent him from standing out in a crowd, followed by a standard Republic issue blaster and his own vibrosword.

Hearing the door slide open behind him, Jaran leapt to his feet and whirled to face the door, vibrosword gleaming in his hand. Seeing the uniform of a Republic soldier, he lowered his blade and peered at the soldier facing him.

"I see you're on your feet, soldier," the newcomer said hurriedly. "We're under attack."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Jaran responded wryly.

The man's name was Trask Ulgo and he had been Jaran's bunkmate for the week during which Jaran had been stationed on the Endar Spire. As they had worked completely separate shifts, Jaran barely knew the man and suspected that he was not the type with whom Jaran would normally associate, even if he had been a closer acquaintance. He seemed too idealistic and green for the worldlier Jaran.

"Let's go; we need to get to the bridge and help Bastila."

Although he had never met or even seen her, Jaran doubted that there was anyone in the Republic who had not at least heard of the famous Jedi. With her special battle meditation ability, Bastila was almost single-handedly responsible for the meager success the Republic had had in this war. Without her, the war would be going much worse at best or already over, with the Sith victorious, at worst. And of course, she had single-handedly killed the dark lord Revan in single combat on a daring Jedi raid on Revan's flagship nearly a year before. The war had not gone much better since Revan's death and Malak's ascension as Malak seemed to have unlimited ships at his disposal and a brutal will to use them, but at least Revan's military genius had been removed from the equation. Although having served under Revan in the Mandalorian Wars, Jaran had never met the famous Jedi, but he knew first hand the results of Revan's brilliant grasp of military strategy. Many engagements had been won on the strength of the man's planning. It made his fall an even greater tragedy.

"Right you are," he acknowledged. "Let's go."

As the door once again opened in front of them, thick, black smoke billowed into the room from the hallway beyond. The corridor beyond was lit only by emergency lighting, creating an illusion of a long, spooky, underground tunnel. As they stepped out into the corridor, Jaran could vaguely make out the silhouette of a maintenance droid busily trying to repair a conduit along the left wall. As they approached, a sudden spike of power from the damaged conduit sent the droid crashing into the far wall, to fall to the floor as a twisted heap of metal, sparking wires and plasteel.

Ignoring the unfortunate droid, Jaran drew his blaster from its holster and walked to the door at the end of the corridor. Glancing back at his companion and seeing his nod of assent, Jaran pressed the release for the door.

The other side was a hell of blaster bolts, cries of pain and flashes of light, as two opposing groups faced off against one another. Peering around the corner to the right, he caught sight of several shrouded figures wearing the Republic uniform. He glanced back at Trask and motioned to the left. Trask nodded his understanding of Jaran's unspoken communication and gripped his own blaster tightly in his hand. As one, they reached around the corner and let loose a lethal volley of blaster fire, cutting down the three Sith soldiers in an instant of carnage.

Once the way was clear, Jaran looked back at the Republic soldiers who had emerged from their places of concealment at the end of the hall. In that instant, a grenade exploded directly at their feet, killing all three soldiers. As they fell, Jaran cursed to himself, knowing that one of the Sith soldiers must have thrown the grenade just before being cut down. They could have used the extra help.

"Come on," Trask said, starting toward the fallen soldiers. "They need medical attention."

"Leave them," Jaran commanded, "They are already dead, and we don't have time to become a triage unit."

Trask stopped in his tracks and regarded Jaran with an astonished look on his face. "You don't know that. They may just be injured."

"We can't afford to take the time necessary to see to them," Jaran insisted. "As distasteful as it is, we need to keep our focus on the task at hand. We must get to the bridge and ensure Bastila gets off this ship. She is of paramount importance."

Trask looked helplessly as Jaran turned and began to walk away, before shaking his head and following the retreating soldier.

As he caught up with Jaran, he looked over at his companion with some dislike. "Heartless bastard!" he muttered under his breath.

Jaran whirled on Trask angrily. "Maybe I am a heartless bastard, but war makes bastards of us all! Perhaps you need to keep your mind on our most important priorities here and focus on the task."

"But you left those men there to die!"

"They were already dead! And if they weren't, we still can't afford to spend our time applying medpacks to every injured soldier we come across. In case you hadn't noticed, this ship is badly crippled and is swarming with Sith boarding parties. Not only are we in a difficult position here, but if Bastila does get off this ship, the Sith will immediately turn and destroy what is left. If we don't make it to the escape pods soon, we won't be around to do anyone any good."

Jaran began walking briskly down the corridor again. "If you don't like the way I do things," he called over his shoulder, "then I suggest you find your own way to the bridge. Otherwise, shut up and let's get moving!"

Trask stared at Jaran's retreating back for a moment before shaking his head and starting after the other man. He certainly was not doing anyone any good standing there and time was wasting. Besides, although he didn't want to admit it, deep down he felt that Jaran had spoken the absolute truth.

* * *

Another explosion rocked the ship, throwing Carth Onasi to the floor. Picking himself up, he returned to the ship's console and peered at the screen, his brow furrowing in concern. The Sith boarding parties had spread throughout the ship and had now managed to gain control of significant portions, including the bridge. The fighting still raged out of control, but given the numbers displayed on the console, Carth new it was only a matter of time before the Republic resistance was snuffed out completely. Even Bastila's vaunted battle meditation had not been enough to stem the advance of the Sith in this instance.

Carth turned at the thought of the young Jedi, knowing the battle was lost and that she needed to escape the ship. She knelt on the other side of the room with her head bowed, hands clasped in front of her. She was surrounded by a faint, blue nimbus, the only visible indication of her battle meditation.

Walking up to her, Carth leaned over and addressed her softly. "Jedi Shan, the battle is over. You need to escape the ship before it is too late."

Bastila looked up, the nimbus disappearing as her concentration was broken. "Are you sure? There are still many Republic soldiers on this ship."

"I just had a look at the console. We are outnumbered two to one, with more Sith soldiers arriving every moment. The longer you stay here, the more likely we'll be discovered."

"But I can't leave yet," Bastila responded, a worried frown appearing on her face.

"Bastila, the battle is over. You can't do anything more here."

"You don't understand," she pleaded intently. "He… I mean… there are still many soldiers on this ship who won't stand a chance of escaping if I don't continue my battle meditation."

"Bastila, we can't afford to lose you," Carth responded, wondering what she had been about to say. "And for Malak to capture you would be an unmitigated disaster. Please, the time has come for you to leave."

Bastila sighed wearily. "Much as I would like to disagree, I fear you are right."

"Then I suggest you get out of here before it's too late. There are two escape pods left. Take one and get off this ship."

"But what about you, Commander?"

"I'm staying here until I'm certain that everyone who can has left the ship. You go ahead, get down to the surface of the planet and I'll follow you shortly. We can meet up again on the planet, and figure out some way to get out of here."

Bastila frowned. "Commander, you are also essential to the war effort. I think you should come with me."

Carth shook his head. "I'm not in the habit of leaving anyone behind when there is any other choice. I'll be off this crate long before she goes up, trust me. Besides, I'm not the important one here – you are."

Bastila looked as though she wanted to debate the matter further, but ultimately shook her head in weary acceptance. "Very well then. I will leave now."

Carth held out his hand and helped her to her feet, stepping aside so she could make her way to the escape pod which he had prepared for her.

As she stepped into the pod, Bastila turned to look back at Carth. "Please, follow me soon. As much as you may protest, you are just as vital to the Republic as I."

"Don't worry Bastila, I will be along shortly."

Bastila studied his face for a moment before turning and entering the pod. Carth watched her through the hatch window as it closed and once he could see she had strapped herself in, he pressed the release button for the pod, sending it plummeting toward the planet below. Immediately, however, he felt his weariness fade, his posture straighten and a feeling of confidence return to him in a most peculiar way. Bastila had obviously begun her battle meditation again.

_I hope she doesn't forget to pilot the pod,_ he thought. _She may not like where she ends up if she doesn't spend some time piloting that thing._

_

* * *

_

Jaran and Trask paused outside the doors which led to the bridge. It had been a difficult trek through the ship, fighting their way through Sith war parties, avoiding and skirting them when the opportunity presented itself. Throughout the entire journey, they had been unable to add any others to their party.

At one point, they had come across a Jedi and a Sith fighting, and had witnessed the Jedi kill her opponent, only to be killed herself by an overloaded power conduit only seconds later.

Jaran glanced at his companion out of the corner of his eye and considered him briefly. Trask had said nothing further about their previous disagreement, but Jaran could sense that inwardly he was still seething. However, Jaran was not concerned with the man's petty insecurities. He was useful only as long as he remained focused on the task at hand and was fit only to be discarded if he let himself be distracted.

_Where did that thought come from?_ Jaran thought to himself, eyes widening in shock at his own cold-heartedness. Never in his life could he remember himself thinking of another in such a cold, analytical fashion.

Shaking his head in confusion, Jaran had to forcibly turn himself back to the matter at hand. Looking at Trask, he raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Well, this is the bridge. Any suggestions?"

Trask shrugged his shoulders. "Surprise and lots of grenades?"

Jaran chuckled to himself. "I suppose we have little choice in the matter. How many do you have?"

Trask held up two fingers on his left hand. "Only a couple, unfortunately."

"Then they will have to be well placed."

Trask swallowed uncomfortably. "Are you certain this is necessary? We could just make our way to the escape hatches and get off the ship."

"We have to ensure Bastila's escape," Jaran disagreed, shaking his head.

"But we don't even know if she's still here. She may have already left the ship."

"No, she hasn't," Jaran responded. "Haven't you noticed how energized you feel? How easy it all feels, after all we have had to fight through to get here? The slowness and sometimes downright incompetence of our enemies? No, Bastila has _not_ fled the ship yet and what's more, she is still using her battle meditation to assist us. Surprising really, considering the battle is all but over from what I have seen. She is still on the ship and we have to make our way to her or die in the attempt. Besides, you saw the state of the port side escape hatches; whatever is still there is badly damaged and of no use to us. Bastila is still on this ship; she will likely be near the starboard escape hatches and we have no choice but to get there ourselves or we will not get off this ship."

"So what's the plan then?"

Jaran shrugged. "Like you said, grenades and surprise, not to mention blazing weapons. Here, let me have one of those grenades. As soon as I open the door, I'll take the left side and you take the right. Pick an area as dense in enemies as you can find and throw your grenade. I'll do the same, and we'll attempt to cut the rest down with our blasters. It's not the best plan, but the longer we stay out here, the more we risk being discovered."

Trask sighed, but handed one of the grenades over without comment, readying the other in his hand. Jaran took the grenade and cupped it in his left hand, the other holding his blaster, which was cocked and ready.

Jaran looked at Trask, who signaled his readiness. There was fear in the man's gaze, but also a grim determination, which eased Jaran's worries for the man slightly.

Taking a deep breath, Jaran readied himself and hit the release to the door.

As the door flew open, several heads immediately whipped around in their direction. Vaguely, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Trask activating the grenade in his hand and raising his arm to throw.

There were two tightly packed groups of Sith in the room – a group inspecting the consoles near the front of the bridge, the other right near and to the left of the door which he had opened. Jaran quickly gathered his courage and tossed his active grenade at the group of soldiers standing no more than ten feet from his present position.

"Down!" he yelled furiously, willing his companion to heed the warning, while he jumped to the side in a prone position.

The Sith soldiers seemed to be moving in slow motion as they brought their blasters to bear on him. Two flashes of bright light, accompanied by two deafening explosions, rocked the already battered bridge, flinging Sith around like rag dolls.

When the smoke had cleared, Jaran looked up and saw the carnage his grenade had caused at close quarters. Several Sith soldiers lay about, twisted and smoking from the blast. A few still moved feebly, more dead than alive, but there were several who had gaping holes in their armor and one who had had his helmet partly sheered off.

Jaran looked away in revulsion, fighting to stop himself from emptying his stomach. A seasoned warrior he was, and no stranger to death, but he had never gotten used to the carnage which could be wrought in close corners and hoped he never would. Some things were too horrible to ever become desensitized to.

Jaran quickly rose to his feet and glanced over at Trask, who appeared to be unhurt. Confident his companion would follow him, Jaran proceeded into the room, his blaster ready in his hand, searching for any remaining opponents. The battered bridge appeared completely devoid of any remaining life.

Some sixth sense warned Jaran of imminent danger and he immediately ducked to the deck just in time to avoid a suddenly active lightsabre, which hummed past the space his head had just occupied. Knowing his blaster was useless in close quarters, Jaran dropped it and whipped out his vibrosword just in time to parry the backswing of a clearly enraged dark Jedi.

The enraged man raised his eyes at Jaran's defensive stance. "You think to challenge a Sith lord?" he spat contemptuously. He suddenly thrust his left hand in Jaran's direction, palm open, fingers extended. Jaran felt as though he were being buffeted by a strong gale, but grimly held his ground until the feeling passed.

The Sith stared at him, surprise etched on his features. Jaran, sensing an opening, quickly brought his sword down, forcing the lightsabre to cut into the deck, and kicked his opponent in the stomach. As the man doubled over, Jaran brought his sword up in a wicked backhand stroke and severed the Sith's head clean from his shoulders.

Jaran looked around and spied Trask picking himself up off the floor against the far wall.

He regarded Jaran with saucer-like eyes, as though seeing him for the first time. "How did you do that?"

"Cortosis weave," Jaran responded curtly. "Lightsabres can't cut through it."

"No, I know all about that," Trask said impatiently. "That Sith did something which knocked me clear across the room, but you just ignored it. And then you take him down like he's nothing. Are you some Jedi or something?"

"Of course not," Jaran responded, trying to remember. At length he shook his head, determined to concentrate on the task at hand. "I don't know what happened, but whatever it was, it didn't work. And Sith are not infallible; they can be killed like any other enemy. In any case, we need to get moving."

Jaran began walking around the bridge to the exit on the other side of a large island, not bothering this time to see if Trask was following him. Jaran was getting a little tired of the man's tendency to be spooked by everything he saw.

Their plan had either been very good, or very lucky, as all enemy soldiers on the bridge had either been dispatched or knocked out by their attack. Jaran wasn't about to question it, knowing that next time, luck could be against him; he simply made his way to the other door, relaxing when he saw the next room was not occupied. It was only a small anteroom off the bridge, but there were two exits leading out, one to a docking bay on the side of the ship, the other to the starboard decks and the escape pods.

Motioning for his companion to follow, Jaran started toward the door to the starboard deck. As he opened the door, he glanced back into the anteroom, to see Trask start toward the other door.

"No Trask, the pods are this way," Jaran called, suddenly nervous.

"But this is the docking bay," Trask protested. "Maybe we can steal a ship and get off this crate."

"Do you think the Sith would leave their boarding craft unprotected?" Jaran snorted derisively. "There's nothing but trouble that way. We've got to continue on toward the escape pods. Besides, we have to make it to Bastila, remember?"

But Trask merely ignored him, intent as he was on the docking bay. However, he had gotten no more than ten feet from the door, when it opened, revealing another dark Jedi on the other side. Both men stared at each other in complete surprise, before Trask reacted and sprinted _toward_ the Sith rather than away from him.

"A dark Jedi! I'll hold him off! You get to the escape pods!"

Swearing to himself, Jaran started back into the room, only to be cut off as the door slammed shut once again. Jaran started for the controls, but another explosion rocked the ship, causing the panel to burst into sparks and sealed the fate of his erstwhile companion. Seething at the man's stupidity, Jaran turned his back on Trask and made his way to the other door, going through without a single backward glance.

* * *

Carth briefly regretted his decision to stay in the ship after Bastila's escape pod had departed. He returned to the console, only to realize that an enemy party had discovered his presence and was attempting to gain access to the escape pod room. For several moments Carth occupied himself with securing the door against intrusion, hoping that his skills with the security systems of the ship would hold them off until he was certain all personnel who were able to leave the ship had done so.

Once that task was complete, Carth returned to the console, his face blanching at what he saw. The battle for the ship had taken a turn for the worse, with only a few pockets of resistance left and those were disappearing fast.

Cursing himself for a fool, he began to turn away from the monitor, when something caught his eye. Moving along the halls of the ship toward his position was a single soldier. Although Carth could not tell the allegiance of the soldier, he watched the signature briefly, noting the quick, yet deliberate, way the person moved as well as the route taken, avoiding Sith positions. Convinced that this was a friend, Carth scanned the area and could see that there was not much in the unknown soldier's way, but with the Sith in the next room trying to break in, he would likely have trouble reaching the escape pods. Carth knew that whoever the soldier was, that person would definitely require help in making it off the ship.

Thankful now that he had stayed, Carth reached for the communications panel.

* * *

Jaran passed through the halls quickly and quietly, knowing that speed was crucial if he was to be successful in getting off the ship. For the most part, the starboard section of the ship was much quieter than port side had been, likely, Jaran suspected, because this part of the ship had been boarded first and resistance quickly eliminated. The few Sith patrols he had come across, he had bypassed, with the exception of a single sentry he had been forced to eliminate. He knew he was getting close to the escape pods, having served in this section of the ship during his time on board.

His main worry at this point was the possibility that the escape pods were being held against him. If the Sith had held this part of the ship since the beginning, as seemed likely, it was probable that they also controlled the escape pods. He had also had the brief impression that Jedi Shan had stopped her battle meditation, only to start it up again soon after. That could indicate that she had left the ship and continued once she had escaped, or it could mean that she had been interrupted and resumed after the distraction had been eliminated. Whatever the case, Jaran was rapidly beginning to suspect that Bastila's fate was out of his hands, and that the best he could do would be to escape the ship in one piece.

It was, of course, while he was immersed in these gloomy thoughts that his comlink, all but forgotten on his belt, went off, making him jump. Rapidly scanning the area to be sure no one else had heard, he switched the unit on.

"This is Carth Onasi on your personal communicator," the voice at the other end of the line stated. "I'm tracking your position through the Endar Spire's life support systems. I can't wait for you much longer; you have to get to the escape pods."

"What about Jedi Shan?" Jaran asked.

"Bastila's escape pod is away – you're the last surviving crew member of the Endar Spire. Look, we don't have much time. You have to get to the escape pods, and you're going to have to do it in a hurry. I've managed to hold off the Sith until now, but I'm not certain how much longer I can do it. They are between us, so when you get here we will have to find a way to eliminate them between the two of us."

Jaran nodded his head. It was only as he had expected and he knew that without Carth he would likely stand very little chance of escape. "Understood, Commander. What is the path in front of me like?"

There was a slight pause before the Commander responded. "Keep going straight down the hall you are currently in until you reach the next intersection. From there, turn right, follow the hallway all the way down to another intersection before turning left again. That should take you all the way here without having to dodge any Sith soldiers."

"Right, I'll be there shortly," Jaran responded. Abandoning all caution, he sprinted down the hallway, following Carth's instructions as he went. As he raced along, he passed numerous doors – entrances to crew quarters, recreation rooms and even the ship's galley, along the way. He even thought he heard noises coming from some of the rooms, but he kept going, hoping that the doors would remain closed.

At length he reached the door Carth had indicated and stopped, raising the comlink to his mouth immediately. The position he occupied was completely open and he knew that if anyone happened down the hall he would be utterly exposed.

"I'm here, Commander; what have you got?"

The comlink spouted static for a moment before resolving itself into Carth's voice. "There's a whole squad of Sight Troopers in between us. There are two working on my door, one standing guard near them and the other is on the other side of the room nearest you."

Jaran absorbed the information thoughtfully. The obvious strategy was to catch the Sith in a crossfire between the Commander and himself. "If we catch them by surprise between us, we should be able to take them out, Commander."

"Just what I was thinking, soldier," Carth responded. "Don't even think about using grenades. The room beyond your position is filled with ordinance containers. If you set one of those off, we are all Ewok guts."

"Well, that's an easy choice, Commander; I don't have any left. Since they're focused on your end of the room, I suggest I go first."

"Agreed," came the response. "I'll give you a few seconds to get their attention; then I'll come at them from my side of the room."

Taking a deep breath, Jaran calmed himself and looked over the blaster he held in his hand. He knew he would have to be quick and decisive and that he would likely be blasted before he could make use of his vibrosword. Ensuring that the safety was released on his blaster, he turned toward the door and brought his hand up to the access panel.

As the door slid open, Jaran vaguely registered the Sith troopers, whose heads whipped towards him almost as one, before he trained his blaster on the near trooper and squeezed the trigger, catching the man square in the chest from less than five meters. As the man flew back from the force of the impact, Jaran moved to the next trooper, standing near the other side of the room, and blasted him with a single shot before diving to the edge of the doorway, as the two Sith working on the door grabbed their blasters and began peppering shots in his direction. Jaran waited until he heard the far door slide open and the blaster shots aimed in his direction suddenly cease before he eased his head cautiously around the corner and peered across the room.

Through the haze of smoke which permeated the room, he could see the Commander standing in the other doorway, a blaster cocked in his hand. Quickly, Jaran signaled his presence and darted into the room, determined to leave the ship while he was still intact.

"Carth Onasi," the other man said by way of introduction, extending his hand, which Jaran grasped firmly.

"Jaran Kalind," Jaran responded. "Thanks for sticking around."

Carth nodded his head and gestured to the one remaining pod. "No problem – I've never left a crewmember behind before and I'm not about to start now. I suggest however, that we get out of here."

Jaran nodded. "I thought you'd never ask."

Once inside the pod, Carth depressed the launch button, sending the pod soaring out into the void of space. Immediately taking the controls, Carth began steering them away from the wounded ship, toward the waiting planet below.

With nothing else to do, Jaran gazed out the window at the Endar Spire, which was rapidly dwindling in the distance. Suddenly, a flash of turbolasers flew out from one of the Sith battle cruisers, taking the wounded Republic ship broadside. It exploded in a flash of brilliant oranges and yellows as the oxygen contained within the ship ignited.

Shocked at the brutality he had just witnessed, Jaran spun to face his companion. "But there were dozens, maybe hundreds, of Sith soldiers still on board," he protested.

Carth grimly returned to his piloting of the craft. "Such is the cruelty of our enemy and their total disregard for even the lives of their own soldiers."

"Cruelty and disregard for life is one thing," Jaran growled, "but a capable commander doesn't waste the lives of his own soldiers. For every one of your own soldiers you kill yourself, you make the enemy's job that much easier."

Inside, Jaran was raging, to the point where he completely missed the uneasy look Carth leveled him. He had always known the Sith were capable of such acts, but to once again witness one right before his eyes filled him with a burning hatred and a cold, hard resolve. Such evil must be opposed. Silently, Jaran vowed that he would do everything in his power to stop the Sith rampage, no matter the cost.

"Hold on," Carth said, voice tight with strain. "We're coming in a little hot here, and there is precious little I can do about it. The pod must have been damaged during the fighting."

Grimly determined to hold to his personal promise, Jaran grabbed on to one of the bars set into the wall of the pod and held on as they began streaking through the upper Taris atmosphere.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 - Taris Nightlife  
**

_A face. The face of a woman – a young woman, still in her teens, her dark hair, cobalt blue eyes and fine, almost delicate aristocratic features vividly clear. _

_She wields a lightsabre expertly, her motions a blur, the weapon like a blur of whirling light. _

_Across her blade, a dark robed figure, face hidden behind a cloth scarf, brings his red lightsabre across her yellow blade. The buzzing clash of lightsabres rings out as the fierce mêlée rages unchecked. Lightsabres flash and the young Jedi parries an aggressive stroke expertly, responding with a series of well placed slashes which force her opponent back. _

_Pressing her attack, the young Jedi dodges an overhand stroke from her opponent, knocks the glowing red lightsabre aside and runs the Sith through all in one smooth motion…_

_

* * *

_

Jaran groaned as his eyes fluttered open, every nerve in his head afire with the intense pounding in his head. Gingerly, he propped himself up on his elbows and managed to rise to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, staring around him at the unfamiliar room. He had no memory of how he had come to be here, although his dream was still vividly imprinted upon his mind. Dreaming about a particular dark-haired Jedi seemed to be becoming a habit, although he was still uncertain as to her identity. The possibility that she might be nothing more than a dream never crossed his mind. His image of her was far too vivid for that.

Shaking his head slightly to clear his mind, Jaran swung his legs down the side of the bed and stood, only to clutch his head in his hands as a fresh wave of pain knifed across his brain. Jaran stood there for several moments, taking deep breaths, waiting for the agony in his skull to subside to a dull ache.

When he felt sufficiently recovered, he looked around the room, taking stock of his situation. He stood beside a bed in one end of a long, narrow room. To his left was a long wall, slightly curved inward along its length, with one door situated in the center of the wall. Opposite was another wall, also slightly curved in the same direction, which held two windows looking out at a bright, blue sky. Jaran could see several tall buildings in the distance, but it was impossible to make out more detail without further investigation. Several pieces of furniture, a sofa, a few chairs and a small table were scattered around the room. However, the room was completely devoid of any markings or other clues which might provide information as to his location.

_No bars in the windows_, he thought to himself. _That at least suggests I'm not a prisoner._

Jaran had just decided to look out one of the windows to try and find out more about his surroundings, when the door to his left opened and Carth strode into the room.

"Good to see you up instead of thrashing around in your sleep," Carth said with a nod of approval. "You must have been having one hell of a nightmare. I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up."

"How long have I been out? Where are we?"

"Well, you've been slipping in and out of consciousness for a couple of days now. We're in an abandoned apartment on the planet of Taris. You were banged up pretty bad when our escape pod crashed, but luckily I wasn't seriously hurt. In the confusion, I was able to drag you away from our crash site and then I stumbled onto this abandoned apartment. By the time the Sith arrived on the scene, we were long gone."

"I guess I owe you my life once again. Thanks."

Carth waved him off, settling into one of the chairs. "You don't have to thank me. As I told you on the Spire, I've never abandoned anyone on a mission, and I'm not about to start now. Besides, I'm going to need your help."

Following Carth's example, Jaran chose a nearby chair and considered his companion. "So, what's our situation?"

"Taris is under Sith control. Their fleet is orbiting the planet, they've declared martial law and imposed a planet-wide quarantine. But I've been in worse spots."

"I'd like to know when," Jaran muttered to himself, before a sudden thought stopped him.

Jaran looked up at Carth. "What about Bastila? Have you been able to find her?"

Carth shook his head grimly. "Not yet. But the good news is that by all accounts, the Sith have not been able to locate her yet either. I figure we're on our own here. There's no way the Republic will be able to get anyone through the Sith blockade to help us. If we're going to find Bastila and get off this planet, we can rely on no one but ourselves."

"We've got to find her," Jaran stated, rising to his feet to pace the room nervously. "She's the only reason the Republic is holding its own at all in this war. I felt her Battle Meditation on the Endar Spire and I know what she can do. If she is captured by Malak, we're in deep trouble."

"Agreed. We'll need to take care to be as inconspicuous as possible."

"So what do you suggest?"

"Well, Bastila's going to need our help. Many of Darth Malak's followers use the dark side of the Force, and the Sith have already killed more than their share of Jedi in this war. She won't be able to move around Taris without drawing attention to herself…"

"But we're just a couple of common soldiers," Jaran finished thoughtfully. "No one will be looking specifically for us."

"Exactly," Carth nodded in approval. "If we're careful, we can move about the planet without attracting notice – a luxury Bastila won't have."

"Half the Sith fleet will be looking for her. We have to move quickly. Do you have any leads on where she might be?"

Carth's face darkened slightly. "While you were out I did some scouting around. There are reports of a couple of escape pods crashing down into the Undercity. That's probably a good place to start."

Jaran was silent for several moments, considering this information. "As I recall, the Taris Undercity is not exactly a welcome sort of place."

"You recall correctly. It's a very dangerous place and we don't want to go in there unprepared. It won't do Bastila any good if we go and get ourselves killed."

"Then we better get moving," Jaran responded. Casting around, he spied his weapons lying in a heap beside the bed. He picked them up and moved to exit the apartment.

* * *

Outside their apartment door, they entered into a long, circular corridor which ran the circumference of the entire apartment complex. At regular intervals along the outside of the corridors were doors, entrances to other apartments in the building. The paint was peeling from the walls and the carpet was a threadbare rag of an unidentifiable color, with numerous holes. The whole building was run down – part of a decay which Carth knew was a microcosm of the degeneration of the entire planet. 

Taking charge, Carth motioned his companion to the right, leading the way to the exit down the hall. They had managed to advance no more than twenty meters before they found trouble – or rather it found them.

"Okay you alien scum, everybody up against the wall! This is a raid!

Jaran and Carth stopped abruptly, as they witnessed a Sith patrol accost several aliens in the hall.

"There was a patrol here just yesterday and they found nothing!" a Duros complained loudly in his own language. "Why do you Sith keep bothering us?"

The patrol sergeant stared at the alien contemptuously, before motioning to one of his men. The Sith soldier raised his weapon at the Duros and shot him in the chest, sending the unfortunate alien careening against the wall, where he fell in a heap.

Carth glanced sideways at his companion as a stunned silence feel over the hallway. Jaran said nothing, simply reaching over his shoulder to draw his vibrosword. Carth observed a chilling expression of grim resolve on Jaran's face, before he began advancing on the Sith soldiers. Cursing their luck, Carth grabbed his blaster out of its holster and moved into a support position.

"That's how we Sith deal with smart-mouthed aliens! Now the rest of you get up against the wall before I lose my temper again!"

The assembled aliens glanced apprehensively at their fallen comrade and moved toward the wall, fear evident on their countenances. As they herded their captives against the wall, one of the Sith soldiers glanced back down the hall and noticed Jaran stalking toward them.

"Hey, what's this?" he cried in alarm. "Humans hiding out with the aliens?"

The sergeant whirled to find a grim-faced Jaran bearing down upon him. "They're Republic fugitives!" he roared furiously. "Attack!"

They turned out to be the last words he ever spoke, as Jaran's vibrosword impaled him before he could bring his own weapon to bear. The trooper who had shouted the warning was cut down by Carth's blaster fire before he could move and the second trooper was rapidly dispatched from behind by a number of enraged aliens. The entire melee lasted less than twenty seconds.

"Poor Ixgil." a second Duros said sadly, "He should never have talked back to that Sith."

Looking up, he addressed the approaching Republic soldiers. "Thankfully you were here to step in and help us, human."

"No problem," Jaran replied curtly.

"These Sith are beasts!" Carth inserted acidly.

"This isn't the first time the Sith have been in here, causing trouble for us, but hopefully it will be the last."

"I very much doubt that," Jaran responded dryly. "They're bound to send someone to search for this patrol."

"Don't worry about the bodies," the Duros said. "I will move them so it looks like they were killed elsewhere. That should throw the Sith off the track. With any luck, they won't be bothering us again for a while."

Nodding his thanks, Jaran again started off down the hallway as the aliens began picking over the bodies of the dead Sith soldiers for any usable items. Carth followed his companion, deep in thought. He knew very little about Jaran other than what he had read in the man's service records. He was clearly a competent fighter, but he also seemed impulsive and hot-tempered, if the expression on his face moments ago was any indication. Carth determined, as they left the building, that Jaran would bear watching closely.

* * *

Outside the apartment building, Jaran and Carth conversed briefly about their destination. Through his scouting, Carth had learned that the Sith controlled all elevators down to the lower city. Since they needed to descend, their path would likely mean dealing with some less than savory people – underground elements who may have some unauthorized means of accessing the lower levels. Either that, or bribe some enterprising Sith soldier. 

They determined the best place to try to make contact with some of these elements was the local cantina – a place Carth had discovered during his wandering. The destination decided, they began making their way in the direction of the cantina.

Upon getting his first real glimpse of Taris, Jaran considered the place as they walked along. In every direction, tall, majestic buildings rose into the bright, early afternoon sky. The walkway was crowded with people going about their business. The majority were humans, but there was also a sprinkling of aliens, mostly Twi'leks, interspersed among the others.

Taris was a planet-wide metropolis and its position along one of the major trade routes had made her a very wealthy and influential planet in the past. Unfortunately, however, the discovery of new and better hyperspace routes had rendered her obsolete and she had fallen into decay. Taris's glory years were quite obviously many years behind her.

The lighting was dim inside the cantina and Jaran immediately knew they had come to the right place. The first room was long, and held numerous tables, several of which hosted gamblers playing at their favorite past time – a Pazaak. At the far end of the room was an exit into the main area of the cantina and through it Jaran could just make out the silhouettes of many bar patrons.

Stepping closer to Carth, Jaran murmured, "How many credits do you have?"

"Only a couple hundred," Carth responded, clearly startled by the question. "Why?"

"I have about the same," Jaran stated. "We're obviously going to need more before we're done here and I think I know a way for us to obtain some more."

"Why will we need more?"

Jaran shrugged. "A bribe for a Sith soldier or underground crime lord, or just for some better equipment. Either way, I would feel much better if we had more funds if the need came up."

"Makes sense," Carth nodded in response. "What is your plan?"

"How are you at Pazaak?" Jaran asked, gesturing toward the room.

"Not very good. I've never really had much of a chance, let alone the inclination, to play."

"Lucky for us then that I have some experience," Jaran said, pulling his Pazaak side deck from his front pocket. "What I need from you is to keep an eye on the rest of the room while I am playing. You never know what could happen in a place like this."

Carth nodded, peering around the room suspiciously as Jaran moved to insinuate himself into one of the many games taking place around the room.

* * *

More than two hours later, Jaran had managed to amass winnings of several thousand credits, as one after another, the Pazaak players of the cantina came to challenge the newcomer. As Jaran knew, gamblers were incapable of resisting a challenge. Once he had managed to win a few hands from his first opponent, he had attracted attention from the rest of the room and had had several challengers eager to relieve him of his winnings. Of course, he had not won all of his hands by any means, but he had won far more than his fair share and one by one, the challengers had left the table, several staring at Jaran closely, only to turn away with a mutter or a shake of the head, obviously deciding it wasn't worth the risk to attempt retrieving their money with force, particularly with Carth standing grim-faced behind Jaran's shoulder, maintaining a silent vigil. 

The latest in the line of patsies was a self-important bore who went by the name of Niklos. The self-proclaimed 'Unofficial Champion of the Taris Pazaak Circuit' had approached Jaran after all the other players had left, claiming with a haughty accent of obviously cultivated refinement, that he would not normally play against a 'novice' like Jaran, but that Jaran's previous games had 'intrigued' him. Jaran had good-naturedly accepted and had proceeded to clean the unfortunate Niklos out of his credits without losing a single game.

As the last game ended, Jaran sat back in his seat, shuffling his side deck, watching the now clearly angry Niklos, who was glaring at him across the table. "I do not lose at Pazaak very often, but you have made a habit of beating me." Niklos stated darkly.

Jaran smiled faintly, amused at the misplaced conceit of the other man. "That's the way Pazaak goes, my friend. Sometimes the cards are kind and sometimes you have a run of bad luck which never seems to end. Don't give up though; luck might be with you tomorrow."

_You can come back and lose to me any time_, Jaran thought smugly, knowing (even if the other man himself did not) that Niklos was an indifferent Pazaak player at best.

"_Friend!_" Niklos sneered in response. "Luck has very little to do with it. Pazaak requires both nerve and skill and I very rarely lose. I think it is obvious what that means – you cheat!"

Jaran's idle shuffling of his deck abruptly ceased as his look hardened. "That's a rather audacious statement from a rather poor Pazaak player," Jaran replied menacingly. "It's not my fault you play like a blind ronto!"

Niklos's face spasmed briefly with rage and humiliation, but he quickly brought himself under control. "I haven't been able to figure out how, but I know you're cheating and you probably have been the entire time you've been here. I'm simply too good to lose this often and I refuse to play Pazaak with a cheater."

Jaran quickly gathered his winnings from the table and placed his Pazaak deck back in his front jacket pocket. Watching this, Niklos's face brightened in triumph. "That's right; why don't you get out of here, cheater. I'm wasting any more time with you."

Jaran ignored him, rising to his feet to leave the table. As he walked past the still seated Niklos, however, he spun and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, hauling the man roughly to his feet and slamming him into the wall beside the table.

"As I told you, sometimes the cards are just against you," he declared menacingly, pressing the unfortunate man into the wall. "I suspect that in your case, the cards are against you more often than not, as you couldn't outplay a comatose Gammorrean. Accusing a man of cheating without any proof can be hazardous for your continued good health. Woudn't you agree?" Jaran asked in a most pleasant, almost conversational tone of voice.

A clearly terrified Niklos merely nodded his head, Jaran's pressure against his windpipe preventing him from saying anything aloud. Jaran regarded him for several more seconds before releasing Niklos, who immediately gulped for air and staggered to the table.

"I'm so glad we understand one another now," Jaran drawled cheerfully, as Niklos cowered from him. "Please, whenever you feel the urge, don't hesitate to come back and play. I'm only too happy to help you by relieving the burden of those heavy credits."

Turning his back on the man, Jaran moved toward the interior of the cantina, never looking back at Niklos, who was now beating a swift, slightly unsteady retreat toward the exit.

Carth caught up with Jaran as he was gazing into the bar. "Don't you think that was a little overdone?" he asked quietly. "We're trying to keep a low profile here, remember?"

Jaran regarded his companion for a moment before responding. "Trust me, Carth; I've frequented places like this in the past and I am familiar with Pazaak players in general. If I had let his challenge go unanswered, it would have been taken as an admission of guilt. Once he made the challenge, I had to answer, or we would have had a posse of them on our trail, trying to get their money back. I responded the only way I could."

"You did win a lot of games," Carth responded dubiously. "Were you cheating?"

Jaran threw back his head and laughed at the question. "Not you, too!"

Carth, however, was unimpressed. He continued to stare at Jaran, his expression stony.

Jaran shook his head, still chuckling at his partner's question. "No Carth, I was not cheating; my cards are not marked and I could not see my opponents' cards."

"The gamblers here are not exactly the most challenging of opponents, certainly not what I would call true professionals. And before you ask, I have played against some very good competition – players who could clean me out as easily as I did to these players today."

Jaran turned back to scan the interior of the bar before continuing. "Pazaak is in essence a game of probabilities and numbers, simple really, once you get the idea. Most of the players here had very unremarkable cards in their side decks and several of them made stupid strategic errors, especially the 'Unofficial Champion of the Taris Pazaak Circuit'."

It was Carth's turn to laugh, as Jaran's voice had mimicked Niklos' arrogant accent perfectly. "Trust me Carth, if these really are the best Pazaak players this planet has to offer, it's a pretty sorry circuit."

Carth smiled back ruefully, indicating his acceptance of Jaran's explanation, and the two men returned to their study of the interior of the cantina. The room was round, dominated by a circular bar, which stood in the center of the room, surrounded by barstools, about half of which were occupied by bar patrons. Around the outside wall of the room stood several tables, which were more sparsely populated than the bar. There were three other exits from the room.

As they scrutinized the room Jaran spotted a woman sitting alone at the bar. Motioning for Carth to join him, Jaran took the seat next her, signaling the bartender for two drinks. The woman glanced briefly in his direction before returning to her drink, absorbed in her own thoughts. Jaran, undaunted by her indifferent attitude, took a long pull at his drink before turning toward her.

"Hi there – I haven't seen you around before. Are you new here?"

Startled, the woman studied him for several moments before sighing and setting her mug down. "I'm sorry – do I know you?"

"No," Jaran admitted, flashing a genuine smile at her, "but that doesn't mean I can't be polite. Of course, if you prefer not to talk…"

"No, that's all right," she said quickly. "I'm just so used to people here giving me the cold shoulder. You caught me off guard."

"Cold shoulder!" Jaran exclaimed. "Why would anyone want to behave that way toward you?"

Jaran again flashed her a engaging smile and continued in a flirtatious tone. "You seem like a charming young lady to me."

The young woman laughed merrily, completely disarmed by Jaran's flattery. "Now you're laying it on a little thick. In answer to your first question, I haven't been here for long. I was just transferred here less than a week ago, and I've rarely left the military base since arriving."

"You're from the military base?" Jaran queried. "You don't look like one of the Sith."

The woman turned away and took a sip from her mug before continuing. "I'm off duty right now, so I'm not in uniform. My name is Sarna – junior officer first class with the Sith occupation force."

"Nice to meet you, Sarna," Jaran responded. "I'm Jaran Kalind."

Sarna gazed at Jaran curiously. "I'm actually a little surprised you're talking to me at all… most of the people here on Taris can't stand us Sith. It can make this job pretty lonely."

"Well," Jaran began carefully, "You really can't blame people… you did conquer the planet."

Sarna's expression turned stony as she regarded Jaran. "Oh, great… I see where this is going: the Sith are evil; why did I join them; blah, blah, blah. I don't need a lecture from the likes of you."

"Sorry," Jaran responded quickly. "I'm not trying to judge you. I'm certain you have your own reasons and it's not up to me to say if they're right or wrong. I only meant to point out the opposing point of view."

"Ah, it's okay," Sarna said, mollified by his apology. "I might have overreacted a bit. But can you blame me? Everywhere I look I see one of you Tarisians glaring at me with hate in your eyes."

"I'm not actually from Taris," Jaran said, smiling at her again. "I'm just stuck here until the quarantine ends."

Sarna's gaze grew more interested. "You're an off-worlder? I'd expect you to be even more belligerent – stuck on a foreign planet and all."

Jaran shrugged, taking another drink from his mug. "Being stuck on Taris isn't so bad… but the locals aren't much fun. Although relieving these amateur Pazaak players of their credits can be eminently satisfying."

Sarna's laugh was genuine in response to the mischievous twinkle in his eye. "So is that what you do to pass the time while you're stranded here?"

"Sometimes," Jaran admitted, grinning. "I do what I can to remain busy, but you've got to admit that there's only so much to do here. It's not exactly a hotbed of activity."

Sarna shook her head, still laughing softly at his comments. "I will agree with you about the locals. It's like everyone on this backwater planet is in a permanent bad mood. Don't they know we have to make the best of things?"

"You've got a pretty positive attitude."

Exactly!" Sarna exclaimed. "It's all about attitude. I didn't ask to be assigned to this galactic dump, but I try to make the best of it! It's pretty easy to get depressed on an assignment like this, but we do what we can to keep our spirits up."

"Everybody needs to blow off steam once in a while," Jaran agreed.

"That's true," Sarna admitted. She gazed at Jaran for a long moment before continuing. "You know, it's nice to meet someone who understands what I'm going through. It's good to talk about this stuff – it gets pretty lonely up at the military base."

Jaran nodded. "I'm sure it can."

For the next half hour, they sat with their heads together, talking quietly about their thoughts on Taris, the war and the situation on the planet. Jaran, for his part, enjoyed her company and conversation immensely. She was clearly intelligent and capable and although she was technically the enemy, Jaran knew enough about human nature to understand that very few situations were explainable in terms of black and white. However this woman had come to serve in the Sith forces, she was clearly not an evil person herself.

At length, however, Sarna glanced down at her chrono and noted the time. Sighing, she looked regretfully back up at Jaran. "It's been really nice talking to you," she said sincerely. "There have been few people whose company I have enjoyed this much in the last several weeks. But I have to get going soon – I've got a shift at the military base."

"My pleasure, Sarna," Jaran responded. "Maybe we can do this again sometime after your shift. After all, it's not like I'm going anywhere, anytime soon."

Sarna smiled at him. "Actually, some of us junior Sith officers are having a party tonight to blow off some steam. I'd really like to see you again. Why don't you drop by the party?"

"Sounds good," Jaran agreed. "I'll be there."

"Good. Don't be late. We're starting right after our shift ends."

She gave Jaran brief, yet concise directions to the party's location. Then, rising, she leaned over and kissed Jaran lightly on the cheek. "Thank you again for making a dull afternoon bearable. I look forward to seeing you tonight."

Jaran squeezed her hand in response and watched as she left the cantina.

Feeling a light tapping on his right arm, Jaran turned to Carth, noting immediately the unhappy expression on the other man's face. "I thought we were trying to keep a low profile here," he stated angrily.

"Low profile is one thing," Jaran responded, "but if we're going to find Bastila and get out of here, we have to take a few chances."

"Oh, and does that include flirting with every Sith officer we come across?"

"Only if it helps reach our goal. Come on Carth, we're at a disadvantage here. The Sith control the entire planet and have almost unlimited resources to draw on to search for Bastila, whereas we have only ourselves. That officer could turn out to be a valuable contact."

"How so?"

"Well for one, she could help us get into the lower city."

"And she'll do this out of the goodness of her heart?"

"No," Jaran responded, his ire beginning to rise. "However, she may be able to be bribed, we may be able to persuade her, flatter her… use your imagination, Carth. Besides, she turned out to be a very nice person."

"A very nice person…" Carth sputtered incredulously. "She… is… a… Sith!" Carth enunciated every word. "She's just like the rest of them – cold-blooded, unrepentant murderers!"

Jaran looked around to see if anyone was following Carth's rising voice. Since no one seemed to be paying attention, Jaran turned back to his companion. "Carth, I understand your feelings, believe me, I do. But come on, whatever her reasons for joining the Sith, she is hardly an evil person. I will grant you that most of the dark Jedi and the Sith leadership appear to be just as you described, but people in general can't be filed into such convenient categories. Rarely are things like this completely black and white."

Carth considered Jaran's words for several moments before responding. "I'll grant you that she seemed an okay sort," he grudgingly admitted. "I'll even grant you that it was an over-generalization. But my point with all of this is we need to be careful. We're not going to do Bastila any good if we are discovered by the Sith."

Jaran regarded his companion, thinking about the man's words. In a sense, Carth was completely correct. They had had convincing proof that very morning that the Sith were on the lookout for Republic fugitives and they would be of no help to anyone if they ended up decorating the inside of a Sith cell. A little caution would only be prudent.

What swayed him even more was Carth's demeanor. In bright contrast to his erstwhile companion, Trask Ulgo, Carth was a career soldier and not likely to be fazed intimidated by much, whereas Trask had seemed green and indecisive. Carth was a solid and resourceful companion, who would do whatever was necessary to see their mission completed. It would be sensible to listen to Carth's advice and insight.

"Look Carth," he began in a conciliatory tone, "I understand what you are saying and I agree with you. We are walking a tight rope here – on the one hand we have to be bold, and on the other we must use caution. However, a little more caution may be advisable, under the circumstances."

As Carth listened to Jaran's words, the dark expression gradually left his face. "Look, I'm not trying to suggest you're reckless or anything, I just think we have to take extra care with every step. Bastila is of paramount importance and we can't do anything to jeopardize her safety. And you're right, this Sith officer of yours could turn out to be a very useful contact."

"Agreed," Jaran stated, extending his hand, which Carth took in a friendly grip.

Carth gazed at Jaran for several moments. "How _did_ you know she was a Sith, anyway?"

Jaran laughed. "I didn't. But I noticed her when she arrived and most soldiers have a certain posture. I took a calculated gamble that she would either be a Republic soldier in the same predicament as we are, or she would be a Sith soldier; either one would have made an excellent contact. If she turned out to be neither, then we have a little conversation and we either learn something from her or not."

Carth nodded his head thoughtfully as both men turned back to their drinks and sat in companionable silence for several moments. Music drifted in from one of the adjacent rooms and Jaran could just make out a large, slimy Hutt lounging at the end of the room to his left.

Finding nothing to hold his interest, he turned back to his companion, catching a melancholy expression on Carth's face. "So, what led you to this place?"

"Me?" Carth replied, "I've been a star-pilot for the Republic for years. I've seen more than my share of wars… I fought in the Mandalorian Wars before all this started."

"As did I," Jaran agreed. "I enlisted at the tender age of eighteen, thinking that I was ready; that I knew all there was to know. Over the protestations of my rather over-protective mother as I recall."

Carth laughed. "Mine was the same. Embarrassed me in front of my friends more than once while I was a teenager."

Jaran laughed in response, delighted to have pulled Carth out of his shell even slightly. But Carth's expression immediately turned somewhat morose once more. " But with all that, I've never experienced anything like the slaughter these Sith animals can unleash. Like the soldiers in that hallway today. Not even the Mandalorians were that senseless."

Jaran was silent, sensing that Carth did not easily talk about himself. "My home world was one of the first planets to fall to Malak's fleet."

"Which one was it?" Jaran prompted quietly.

"Telos," Carth responded, woodenly. "The Sith bombed it into submission, and there wasn't a damn thing our Republic forces could do to stop them!"

Jaran closed his eyes, remembering. Telos had been the catalyst for his decision to re-enter the Republic military after the attack of the Sith. Although he had never been there, he could still remember the rage he had felt when he had heard the news for the first time. It had seemed as though al the suffering and hardship of the war against the Mandalorians had been for naught.

"I'm sorry, Carth. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I know. Don't worry about it. I just… must not be making much sense. You probably mean well with your questions. I'm just not accustomed to talking about my past very much. At all, actually."

"I understand. I don't mean to pry and I don't want to coerce you into talking about things you'd rather not. Sometimes talking can help; other times, just too painful."

Carth nodded his head. "That's the truth."

Visibly shaking off his gloomy thoughts, Carth glanced over at Jaran. "So… what's your story then?"

"Pretty much the same as any other," Jaran responded, shrugging. "As I said, I joined at an early age and was sent into action immediately after basic training. The Republic was in such need of manpower at the time that raw recruits were often rushed out of the academies and sent into battle long before they were ready. I was one such. Looking back, I can see I was lucky to have survived my first few months."

Carth nodded knowingly. The first two years of the Mandalorian Wars had been desperate. "So what did you do once the war ended?"

"I left the military service, having had my fill of battle, and signed on with a smuggler ship."

"Smuggler ship?" Carth queried, raising an eyebrow. "Hardly a noble calling."

"Maybe so," Jaran conceded, "but the pay was good, the company was not bad and I was pretty much on my own when not on some run. I had plenty of time and opportunity to develop some pretty handy skills – such as Pazaak, which I played often while on that ship."

"So what brought you back to the military?"

"Seeing what these Sith were trying to do to the galaxy. I didn't fight for three years just to have some traitors come back and finish the job the Mandalorians started."

Carth nodded his head, agreeing with Jaran's assessment. "I can see we agree in many ways."

Jaran picked up his glass and drained its dregs, rising to his feet. "In any case, I think I'd like to return to the apartment and rest a little more. I don't think my head has completely recovered from the bashing it took in that escape pod."

Carth joined him and together they left the cantina.

* * *

Later that evening, Jaran made his way toward the location of the party the Sith officer to which the Sith officer had invited him earlier in the day. It was more than an hour after sunset and a wind had arisen, cooling the city and making the walk rather pleasant and refreshing. His afternoon rest had done wonders and he was completely free now of any lingering effects from his close encounter with the wall of the escape pod. 

It had been Jaran's original intention to attend the party with Carth, but Carth had pointed out that Jaran would be better off going on his own. Not only had Jaran done all the talking with the Sith officer, but if they were split up, one of them would be free to search for Bastila, in the event the other was captured by the Sith. Jaran suspected that it would ultimately require their combined talents to find Bastila, but he had not argued the point. It would likely be better for him to show up on his own anyway.

As Jaran made his way to the party, he encountered three noisy and obviously inebriated men.

"What ish thish planet coming to, huh?" the first man said, weaving slightly on his feet. After a small hiccup, he continued. "Shlummies walkin' around the Upper City!"

The second drunk moved in front of Jaran and attempted to stare directly into Jaran's eyes with his own bloodshot ones. He had little success, as was he was swaying on his feet. "Why don't you go back to the Lower Cities where you belong, Shlummie?"

Jaran grimaced as he caught a whiff of the drunk's breath; the man smelled as if he had marinated himself in Tarisian ale for a month. "Well, this is rich," he managed, gamely putting on a brave front in the face of the stench.

"Yeah, like he said," the third drunk interjected, "these shtreets are for the Upper City citizens! You better get outta our way, if you know what'sh good for you!"

Jaran regarded the three staggering men bemusedly. They were obviously so intoxicated it was all they manage to remain standing, let alone picking fights with passersby.

"You might want to think twice about this," Jaran responded pleasantly to the drunk facing him. "This may be more than you can handle."

The man directly in front of Jaran seemed to consider it momentarily. "Uh… c'mon, fellas. This shlummie ain't worth the bother."

"That's right, friend," Jaran replied. "Not worth the bother or the risk. Now if I were you, I'd move right along."

Jaran sidestepped the man in front of him and continued on his way. The drunk looked around for a moment or two, seemingly confused, before the three began staggering off in the opposite direction.

Amused, Jaran continued on his way, reflecting as he walked that no matter where one went, colorful characters were always just around the next corner. A few moments later, he arrived at his destination.

The complex he entered could have been the mirror image of the one in which he and Carth had taken refuge. The same circular configuration, the same faded, worn-out carpets and the apartments situated around the perimeter of the building. Obviously the architects of this world had not possessed the most vivid of imaginations. Either that or they simply had not cared. Loud music blaring from the corridor to his right told him all he needed to know.

As Jaran made his way toward the source of the music, it occurred to him that few besides the Sith would dare to generate such a cacophony at that late hour. Of course, who among the neighbors would have the nerve to ask the invaders of their planet to turn the noise down?

"Jaran!" Sarna called, spying him as soon as he entered the apartment. As she approached Jaran was able to see her more clearly than he had in the semi-darkness of the cantina. She was a pretty, blond woman, with bright, emerald eyes and a small, slightly upturned nose. She was of average height, the top of her head coming approximately to Jaran's chin, and possessed a slender, athletic build. Despite what she had said at the cantina, Jaran doubted she would have any difficulty finding men willing to spend time with her.

Sarna walked up to him and greeted him with a hug. "There you are. I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Jaran replied with a laugh. "Especially not on this planetary cesspool; the evenings can be pretty dull."

"Isn't that the truth," Sarna replied with a delighted laugh. "Now come on, I'll introduce you to the others."

The introductions went quickly, as there were only three other Sith officers in the room, all male, and two Tarisian women to round out the group. Not wishing to become more familiar with his assorted enemies, Jaran merely smiled and nodded, not really caring for any names. From the mess of empty bottles already littering the room, it was obvious that the partygoers were drinking heavily and it looked like several of them had been doing for some time already. They had not even stopped to lock up their uniforms, as a pile of them lay discarded in one corner, giving Jaran the beginnings of an idea.

He accepted the bottle Sarna offered and downed a healthy swig from it.

"This Tarisian Ale is wonderful," Sarna stated, taking a bottle for herself. "We should have conquered this planet ages ago."

Jaran smiled and agreed, allowing her to draw him over to a set of chairs on one side of the room.

* * *

As the night wore on, Jaran began to notice several items of interest. For one thing, the Tarisian Ale, which formed the bulk of the alcohol, was definitely powerful stuff. The other participants were quickly becoming inebriated, even his companion, who was drinking with far more moderation than the others. It took all of Jaran's wits and ingenuity to consume as little as possible, while still appearing as if he drank as much as anyone else. Even so, he was still beginning to feel the effects, even though he had in reality drank very little. 

The second thing he noticed was that Sarna, whom he would certainly not have called shy by any means, was losing more of her inhibitions the more she drank. He had known almost instantly that she was attracted to him, but as the night wore on, she drew increasingly closer. Eventually, she was literally draped all over him. Not that he minded – she was an attractive woman, certainly not far from his type and he was open to flirting, dancing and a number of kisses stolen while sitting together on the sofa. But he had no intention of being drawn into her bed; there was just too much at stake to become distracted to that extent. So he played along with the game, keeping her just satisfied enough to keep her interested, but more importantly, keeping her drinking. Any guilt which flared up over his cavalier treatment of her was immediately tamped down by the necessity and gravity of the situation.

The third thing he noticed was that one of the Sith did not appear to be enjoying the party. Instead, he spent most of his time seated in a chair across the room, glaring in Jaran and Sarna's direction.

"What's with your friend?" he asked at one point, surreptitiously indicating the glowering man across the room. He was already certain he knew what the man's problem was.

"Him?" she asked loudly, pointing directly at the man.

Jaran laughed and pulled her arm down again. "Yes. He's got a face like a thunder cloud and appears a mad as a rabid kath hound."

"That would be him," Sarna replied sourly. "He's been after me ever since I was transferred here. Won't take no for an answer."

She peered coyly back up at Jaran and placed a teasing kiss on his mouth. "I happen to like nice men. He's got the breath of a wookie and all the social skills of a rutting mynock and I prefer not to be in the same system with him."

She gestured toward one of the other soldiers dancing in the middle of the room. "The only reason he's here at all is Tynar. Although why such a nice guy would be friends with that Dagoban mudsucker, I can't imagine."

Jaran laughed, glancing over at his antagonist. Their exchange had not gone unnoticed and even though Jaran was certain the frowning man had not been able to hear them, the meaning must have been crystal clear. His scowl darkened and he began drinking even greater amounts. Within the next hour, thankfully before he had summoned the nerve to start a fight, he had passed out.

It was past the middle of the night when, at last Jaran lowered Sarna to a comfortable position on the sofa, her own liquor consumption having finally overcome her right in the middle of a passionate kiss, and took stock of the situation. One of the Sith had retired earlier with one of the locals to an adjacent room and the other participants were all out from the effects of the alcohol.

Jaran got up and made his way to the corner of the room, where the Sith had discarded their equipment. There were several uniforms lying haphazardly in the corner, complete with helmets and standard issue weapons. Jaran suspected the Sith officers all had their own identification badges as well, but as he didn't know where he would be able to get them altered for his own use, Jaran rejected that idea immediately. However, a couple of Sith uniforms might very well gain them access to the lower city. He suspected that security here was lax, the Sith having subdued the planet several months before. It was possible they would be able to bluff their way past a Sith post with the aid of the uniforms.

Working quickly, Jaran grabbed a uniform he was certain would fit him adequately and gathered a second for Carth. He stuffed them into a knapsack before turning to leave.

On his way out, he stopped at the sofa where Sarna lay sleeping and bent over to kiss her lightly on the forehead. "I'm sorry Sarna, but I had a great time with you," he whispered to her sleeping form. "I hate to do this, but the need is great. I hope you don't get into too much trouble over this."

He suspected, however, that his hope was in vain. The Sith were notoriously intolerant of any missteps and he suspected that Sarna would pay dearly for trusting him. Such was the price of necessity.

Sighing, Jaran rose, took his guilty conscience and left the room without a backward glance.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Maybe I should have said this from the start, but no I am not making any money from this and am doing it purely for my own enjoyment. I own nothing.**  
**

**Chapter 3 – Gadon Thek  
**

When Jaran arrived back at the apartment late that night, he and Carth conferred briefly and decided to descend to the Lower City early the next morning, before the Sith party-goers had a chance to awaken and discover the missing uniforms. The decision made, they lay down, hoping to catch a few hours sleep before moving on in their quest.

Jaran, however, tossed and turned for well over an hour, his conscience not allowing him to rest. Eventually he gave up and arose, standing by the window for the remaining time they had allotted themselves for rest and staring out on the sleeping city and thinking.

When it came time to leave, he roused Carth and the two of them donned their stolen uniforms and left the apartment. It was just as well they left in the early morning hours given the events of the previous day. Jaran doubted that their Sith uniforms would be a welcome sight to the occupants of the apartment complex.

As Jaran had suspected, they easily gained access to the elevator leading down to the lower city, as the Sith guard on duty did not even give them a second glance when they moved past him. The elevator ride down was surprisingly short and the door opened to a dull, artificial light.

Cautiously, Jaran poked his head out the door and seeing no one, motioned to Carth that the coast was clear and stepped out of the elevator. A brief check of the area once again revealed no one in immediate sight, so they once again conferred and decided to remove the uniforms, replacing them in the backpack Jaran had obtained. Jaran doubted the Sith were any more popular down here than they had been above. Having returned to their original clothing, they set out once again.

The Taris lower city was not a pleasant place.

It was a maze-like warren of old, rotting walkways, seemingly on the verge of perpetual collapse from extreme age and neglect. The air felt close and suffocating – a claustrophobic hell of faint light and spooky, ghoulish corridors. Here and there were heaps of rancid rubbish and soon after Jaran and Carth began their journey, they were forced to backtrack several walkways because of a power conduit which had ruptured, cascading sparks down to the walkway below.

As they walked along, they met few others and what few they did happen across were mostly aliens. This was where they congregated, unwelcome as they were in the upper city. They also knew a place like this would be a haven for the dregs of the planet's population and those who did not wish to be found. Not to mention the haunt of Taris's various swoop gangs; rival hooligans who indulged in riding their suicide bikes, terrorizing the local populace and fighting amongst themselves whenever the opportunity presented itself.

"Jaran," Carth called from his side. "What are we looking for here anyway?"

Jaran shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not certain to tell you the truth. I suppose we should be looking for some information, see if we can find someone who knows something about the escape pods."

Carth thought about it for a moment. "Well, I guess we could try and stop someone, but most of those down here don't seem to be the friendly type."

"Then we'll have to keep on moving," Jaran replied. "Just keep your eyes open."

Carth nodded grimly and the two of them started moving again.

They had not gone more than one hundred paces before they began to hear voices, angry voices raised in argument. Jaran cautiously motioned to Carth and they began to make their way closer to the source of the noise.

They came to a corner and gingerly peered around the side. In the middle of the next passage, two groups were facing off, each screaming at the other in loud, rage-filled voices. The groups were of mixed species, three per side, and the only thing that separated them was the black and gold coloring of the closer group, as opposed to the blue and silver of the other.

"Beks are nothing but bantha fodder!" a red-skinned alien in black and gold was screaming. "The Vulkars are strongest!"

"We'll teach you who's strongest!" his opponent sneered in response.

In an instant, weapons were drawn and the two opposing groups squared off in what turned out to be a short, but brutal fight. Vibroswords clashed and blaster fire rang out as the two groups hammered away at each other mercilessly.

Ultimately however, the black and gold group emerged victorious, though not without blemish, as one of their number lay dead on the ground with the members of the rival gang. Jaran and Carth waited for several moments while the two remaining gang members picked over the dead and watched the aliens eventually depart from the scene, one limping heavily, carrying the items they had managed to loot.

Once they were gone, Jaran and Carth stepped out and continued on their way. "Rough place," Carth commented.

Jaran merely grunted in response as they skirted the dead bodies.

About twenty minutes later, the passageway they walked on broadened out and they came into a more populous district. Here and there, they could see small shops, as well as numerous denizens hurrying this way and that. In the center of the long passageway was the entrance to a cantina.

Jaran looked at Carth with a question in his eyes. "Well, what do you think? It worked yesterday."

"Sure. Just please… no more Pazaak."

Jaran laughed. "I promise. It's not like we need any further funds right now anyway."

* * *

The lower city cantina was the mirror image of the establishment in the upper city – same layout, the tables situated in the same places and the same types of activities going on. The only immediately discernable difference in the two watering holes was the number of aliens, which made up more than three quarters of the patrons in this cantina, whereas the upper city had had virtually none outside the Twi'lek dancers. As predicted, there were several Pazaak games in progress in various parts of the cantina and although Jaran was tempted to try his skills against these players, he forced himself to ignore them, following Carth who had already begun to weave his way through the Pazaak tables into the main bar area of the cantina. 

The first thing Jaran noticed as they walked up to the bar was a couple of rough-looking Rodians entering from another room. Ignoring the two Republic soldiers, the two aliens approached a Twi'lek with vividly blue skin and began to harass her.

"Little Twi'lek come where she not belong," began one in his own language. "Maybe she should leave before she gets hurt."

The Twi'lek turned toward them with a disinterested air. "I told you to leave me alone. So give me some space, Bug-eye! Your breath smells like bantha poodoo!"

"Little girl should not be in bar," the second Rodian said. "This no place for little girl. If little girl smart, she run away home now."

The Twi'lek's face darkened, clearly incensed now. "Who you calling a little girl, Chuba-face?"

"Little girl needs lesson in manners," the first Rodian threatened, taking a step forward.

Jaran and Carth glanced at each other and each found the same angry expression on the other's face. But before they could do anything the Twi'lek turned away from the Rodians.

"Zaalbar… a little help here? I need you to rip the legs off some insects."

From across the bar a Wookiee looked up at her from the plate of food he was busily stuffing down his throat. "Mission – I'm busy. They just brought my food," he complained loudly in his own language, the trademark Wookiee language of grunts and roars which few understood.

"Quit complaining… you can finish eating later," Mission responded with exasperation. "Besides, you need the exercise so get over here."

The Wookiee complained again with a loud roar, his eyes flashing in anger, before stuffing another handful of food in his mouth and rising to his feet. As with most Wookiees, he was big; standing well over seven feet tall, heavily muscled and covered from head to foot in dark brown fur. He wore a belt around his midsection with a strap over one shoulder and had a Wookiee bowcaster hanging on his back. From up close he was truly an imposing sight; a sentiment which was apparently shared by the two Rodian thugs as they backed off apprehensively from his approach. Wookiees were not known for taking kindly to having their meals interrupted.

"You were saying?" the Twi'lek prompted, a wicked grin appearing on her face.

"We no want trouble with Wookiee. Our problem with you, little girl!"

"You got a problem with me, then you got a problem with Big Z. So unless you want to take on my furry friend, I suggest you greenies hop on out of here."

Sizing up the situation, the Rodians decided it was one thing to antagonize a Twi'lek girl, but quite another to go up against a clearly unhappy Wookiee. "Little girl lucky she has big friend. Maybe some day, she not be so lucky."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You guys better get lost before Big Z really does get angry." Right on queue, the Wookiee growled menacingly, prompting a quick and slightly disorganized retreat from the two Rodians.

As she looked away from the retreating forms of her erstwhile tormentors, the young Twi'lek's eyes rested on the watching Republic soldiers. "Say, I don't recognize you and I know pretty much everyone in the Lower City. You two must be new around here." It was a statement, not a question. "I guess that makes me and Big Z your official welcoming committee!"

"That's weird: a Twi'lek who speaks galactic Basic!" Jaran responded, surprised.

"It's not that strange. Most aliens can speak Basic, they just prefer to use their own language. But I grew up here on Taris so I just sort of got used to speaking the native tongue."

"You showed a lot of guts dealing with those thugs, kid," Carth interjected. "You got a name?"

"My name's Mission Vao and this big Wookiee is my best friend Zaalbar," she responded, extending her hand for them to shake. "I'd offer to give you a tour, but the streets down here aren't exactly safe."

"I think we've seen that," Jaran said wryly.

"But if there's anything else you need…"

Jaran looked over at Carth. Seeing a look of agreement in his eyes, Jaran motioned his new acquaintances to a nearby table and took a seat. "Actually, we're looking for some information."

Mission smiled broadly in response as she sat down across the table from him. "Well, you came to the right person! If you want info on Lower Taris I'm the one to talk to! Davik, the Lower City gangs… I've even got the scoop on that bounty hunter Calo Nord!"

Jaran smiled in response, amused by her enthusiasm. He only hoped she was as good as her word.

"How do a Wookiee and a Twi'lek street urchin end up as best friends?" Carth interrupted curiously.

"We just kind of fell in together. It ain't easy on your own here in the Lower City – everyone's always looking to push you around."

Carth nodded. "I'm not surprised. Still, you seem like an odd pair."

Mission simply shrugged his words away. "When I met up with Zaalbar it seemed like a good match. I knew we could look out for each other. With my street smarts and his muscle, we make a great team."

"We're looking for some information about those escape pods which crashed in the under city a couple of days ago," Jaran interjected, wanting to return to the important topic.

"Escape pods, huh?" Mission replied, a suspicious look entering her eyes. "Well, the only ones looking for the escape pods are Davik's men, Vulkars or Sith. But you don't seem like any of those to me."

"Can you help us?" Jaran said, ignoring her declaration.

Mission looked at him for a moment longer before shaking her head. "Unfortunately no. Big Z and I were up here when those pods crashed down and by the time we got wind of it, the Vulkars had cleaned those pods out."

"Did they find anything?" Jaran pressed.

"Apparently they captured a Republic officer," she said, leaning forward and lowering her voice in a conspiratorial tone.

"Do you know who?" Carth asked eagerly.

Mission shook her head. "Not specifically. I understand that it was some young woman, but other than that, the details I know are kinda sketchy."

Carth and Jaran glanced at each other, each knowing the other's thoughts perfectly. It was extremely likely their missing Jedi was in fact the 'Republic officer' captured by the Vulkars. This would in turn make their mission even more difficult.

"Well I guess we have no choice," Jaran stated after a momentary pause.

"Looks like we'll have to pay these Vulkars a visit," Carth agreed.

"The Black Vulkar base?" Mission asked incredulously. "You'll never get in there – they attack on sight. But if you got a problem with the Vulkars, you should go speak to the Hidden Beks."

"Hidden Beks?" Jaran asked.

"Yeah, they're the other big swoop bike gang down here. Their base is open to anyone – I hang out there all the time. Gadon, the leader of the Hidden Beks, is a pretty good guy. He'll probably be able to help you out."

Jaran sat back in his chair regarding Mission intently. "We ran across a couple of groups on our way here and they were throwing around 'Vulkars' and 'Beks' before they started pummeling each other into space slag. What's going on?"

"They're the two biggest gangs here in the Lower City," Mission responded. "The gangs down here have always fought each other, but lately it's been a whole lot worse. The Beks are led by Gadon Thek – he's a good guy. Lost his sight in a swoop bike accident a few years ago, but even blind he's a great leader. Not like that traitor Brejik. Before he took over the Vulkars he was a Hidden Bek. Gadon considered that ungrateful space slug his adopted son."

"So what happened?"

"When Gadon went blind everyone figured he'd step down and appoint Brejik in his place. But Gadon figured Brejik wasn't ready yet. He wanted him to wait a few years. But Brejik was too impatient. He left to join the Vulkars and ever since he's been waging a war to wipe Gadon and his Beks from the face of Taris!"

"Just great," Carth grumbled. "All we need is to stumble into the middle of a gang war."

"Hey, this gang war in the Lower City is totally the Vulkars' fault. They're the ones killing everything that moves out on the street. It's like they've gone insane."

"That may be so," Carth returned. "But that doesn't help us right now."

"But that's what I've been trying to tell you," Mission said with exasperation. "I don't know anything about those pods, but you can be sure Gadon will. If you go and talk to him, I'm sure he'll be willing to help you and he might even have some information about your missing Republic officer."

Jaran eyed Mission with interest. She was certainly intelligent. Although she was polite enough not to call them out on it, she had picked up on the fact that they were looking for someone, rather than something.

"Thank you for your help Mission. I think we may just pay a visit to the Hidden Bek base."

"Any time," Mission responded with a broad smile. "We're often around here, so if you need anything further, look us up here."

"Come on Zaalbar," she continued, addressing the Wookiee, "this dive is boring. Maybe we can find some action in the Undercity."

* * *

About fifteen minutes later Jaran and Carth approached the entrance to the Hidden Bek base. The entrance was just off a side pathway from the main thoroughfare in that section of the Lower City and its location was well known to the denizens of the area. Jaran had been surprised that its location was not a secret, but Mission had explained that until recently, visitors had been welcome and that Brejik, having been a Hidden Bek himself, already knew the location. Neither of the two gangs possessed the numerical superiority it would have taken to mount an all-out assault on the other's base, so the information did him precious little good in any case. 

As they approached the large door which led into the base, a human woman stepped out from behind a crate where she had been concealed and confronted them.

"Hey, you can't just walk in here!" she exclaimed. "This is the Hidden Bek base. How do I know you're not a Vulkar spy sent to kill Gadon Thek?"

"I'm here to speak to Gadon, we need his help."

"A lot of people want to go inside and speak to Gadon," she explained patiently, "he's a hero of the common folk. But the days of the Hidden Bek's open door policy are gone. Between the Sith conquest and the Vulkar gang war Gadon has more enemies than he used to and we're being careful about who we let in now."

"I understand that," Jaran replied, forcing himself to remain calm. "But we need Gadon's help. We were told to speak to him."

"Who sent you?"

"A Twi'lek by the name of Mission Vao."

The woman considered this. "Mission sent you, did she? Well, you don't look like you're with the Vulkars or the Sith."

"I assure you we're not."

"Well I guess you won't be able to do anything to harm Gadon in the heart of his own base. Not with Zaerdra watching his back."

"So you're going to let us in?"

The woman nodded. "Go in and speak to Gadon if you want. He'll be in the main hall in the far left corner. Just remember to be on your best behavior… the Hidden Beks are watching you."

With that she turned away, pulled a communicator out of her belt pouch and began speaking into it. A moment later, the doors to the complex slid open and Carth and Jaran walked into the Hidden Bek base.

The entrance to the base opened up into a large common area over fifty meters in length and it was populated by many people of different species. They were all going about their business, but Jaran could feel their eyes on him and knew for all their nonchalant attitude, they were watching Carth and Jaran very closely. The base was dingy, dark, and in poor repair – much like just about every other place he had seen in the lower city. But the Beks had made it their own and in this day on Taris, it was certainly better than most of the Lower City citizens had.

Jaran surveyed the area for several moments, before spotting a pair of Hidden Beks talking in the far corner the sentry had indicated. Certain that one of the gang members was the man they had come to speak with, Jaran made his way to the far end of the hall, where he was accosted by one of the two, a purple-skinned Twi'lek.

"Hold it right there – who are you and what is your business with Gadon?" she asked, placing her hand on a blaster on her hip.

On the other side of a small communications console an older human man, dark-skinned and bald, rebuked the Twi'lek. "Calm down Zaerdra. Nobody is going to try anything here in the middle of our own base. It would be a suicide mission."

"You're too trusting, Gadon," Zaerdra disagreed. "Brejik and his Vulkars want you dead. Anyone we don't know is a potential threat and it's my job to make sure you're safe!"

"Do you want us to start attacking strangers on sight Zaerdra – like the Vulkars do? I will never let it come to that! Now step aside and let them pass."

"As you wish," Zaerdra replied, clearly unhappy.

"You can speak to Gadon if you want," she continued, addressing Jaran, 'but I've got my eye on you! You try anything and you'll be vaporized before you can say 'Vulkar spy'!"

Gadon smiled apologetically. "You'll have to forgive Zaerdra. Ever since Brejik and the Vulkars began this war against us, she's been a little over-zealous in her security duties. The problems with the Sith haven't helped things. Zaerdra seems to forget that I know how to look after myself! Now, how can I help you?"

Jaran peered at the gang leader curiously. Mission had told them that he had lost his sight in a swoop bike accident, but he appeared to follow motion around himself pretty well. Jaran could see the strange, milky-blue color of his eyes, which were obviously optical implants he had had surgically implanted in his eye sockets in place of his eyes.

"We were told that you had gone blind," Jaran remarked dryly, "but you seem to see pretty well for a blind man."

Zaerdra bristled immediately at Jaran's words, but Gadon merely chuckled. "Well, you can certainly see that I lost my sight in a swoop racing crash. I rely on these artificial replacements to see now."

"But my blindness was not the worst consequence of my accident," his voice becoming serious. "My affliction was what eventually led to this war between my Beks and the Vulkars."

"Brejik," Jaran said.

"I see you've heard something about our troubles," Gadon said with approval. "I like someone who makes it his business to know about those he will be dealing with."

For his part, Jaran was impressed with the gang leader. He seemed very capable and intelligent and was clearly a born leader. It wasn't difficult to see why he commanded the loyalty and respect of so many. "So why didn't you step down?"

"With my ocular implants, I can still see well enough to lead this gang and I knew Brejik wasn't ready to take over yet."

"That's basically what I heard," Jaran said. "But why did you think he wasn't ready?"

Gadon sighed, his tone turning introspective. "Brejik has always been impulsive. He is self-centered, proud and a bit of an egomaniac, but he's also a good fighter, tactician and leader. I wanted him to develop a little more consideration for others – a concern for those around him and the conditions in the Lower City in general. He could have been one of the greatest leaders in the history of the Lower City if only he could have put a sense of compassion together with his ability to inspire the loyalty of his peers."

Gadon snorted bitterly, focusing his attention back on Jaran. "Unfortunately, Brejik didn't agree with me. In a rage he left to join our arch rivals, the Black Vulkars. A lot of the younger gang members followed him and soon he and his followers had taken control of the Vulkar gang."

"But it doesn't make sense," Carth protested. "Why start a gang war with the Beks?"

"As I said, Brejik is a proud man and my decision was a public humiliation for him. Maybe if I had stepped down this gang war could have been avoided."

"Don't fool yourself, Gadon," Zaerdra disagreed. "Brejik wants to control the Lower City gangs. If you'd stepped down, he'd have led the Beks against the Vulkars. He wanted this war, one way or another."

Gadon heaved a heavy sigh and nodded his head. "I know you're right, Zaerdra. Brejik won't rest until I am dead and the Beks are no more, but it's hard to accept the truth of his betrayal."

"Still," he continued, turning back to Jaran, "I don't suppose you've come here to talk about our troubles. What can I do for you?"

"I need information on those Republic escape pods that crashed in the Undercity."

"The escape pods? You know, I heard the Sith have been asking around the Upper City about them as well… but you don't look like you're with the Sith."

"They might be spies, Gadon!" Zaerdra exclaimed, her unfriendly eyes piercing the two soldiers. "They might be working for the Sith!"

"Calm down, Zaerdra. If the Sith thought we knew anything useful they'd have a battalion of troops kicking down our door. No, I think this off-worlder has his own agenda."

"Don't worry… we're not working for the Sith."

"I suppose I could tell you what I know," Gadon mused, rubbing his fingers on his neatly-trimmed goatee. "It's not like it could do any harm to me or my gang… but it might cause problems for the Vulkars and that's okay in my book." He leaned forward and began to explain in a low, conspiratorial tone. "The Vulkars stripped those pods clean within hours after they landed. It's too bad we didn't get there first, considering what my spies reported the Vulkars found – a female Republic officer survived the crash. We Beks don't believe in intergalactic slavery, but the Vulkars aren't so picky. They took her prisoner."

"Bastila's a slave?" Carth blurted out. "What will happen to her now?"

Gadon looked at Carth sharply, at the same instant Carth realized what he had said. Gadon whistled under his breath. "Well, it appears as if this Republic officer is not just anyone. Even in the Taris Lower City we've heard the name Bastila. Not exactly a common name, now is it?"

"No it's not," Jaran replied firmly. "What will they do with her?"

"Well, normally the Vulkars would take a captured slave and sell them for a nice profit to Davik or an off-world slaver. But a Republic officer is no ordinary catch."

"Do you think they know who she is?"

"Hard to say. If she kept her wits about her, she may have been able to keep them from learning who she is. For now at least if they know, they're keeping her identity a secret. It makes sense really, Brejik has other plans for her and if the Sith knew he was holding her they would throw everything they had at him."

Jaran and Carth exchanged a brief glance. So much was riding on their ability to find Bastila that they really had little choice in the matter. They had to find Bastila and if that meant risking their lives trying to infiltrate a hostile gang's base, then so be it.

"I guess there's no help for it," Jaran said grimly. "We need to get inside the Black Vulkar base."

Zaerdra started in surprise. "Are you crazy? The Vulkars shoot people on sight in the streets! Even if you want to rescue this woman, you'd have to be crazy to attempt to get in their base!"

"Think about it, Zaerdra," Gadon said, still facing Jaran, "a Republic officer who just may be a famous Jedi; all the escape pods crashing on Taris; and off-worlder desperate to get inside the Vulkar base. It's obvious."

Zaerdra's eye widened in comprehension. "Of course! You are soldiers who survived the crash! That's why you want into the base – to rescue that Jedi before Brejik sells her to some intergalactic slaver!"

"So can you help us get in there?"

Gadon shook his head. "She's too valuable to leave with the Vulkar scum at the base. Brejik's probably got your friend hidden away somewhere safe until the big swoop race. You'll never find her."

"Swoop race?" Carth asked, confused. "What does that have to do with it?"

"I'm afraid your friend has become a pawn in Brejik's game to take over the Lower City. He's offered her up as the Vulkar's share of the prize in the annual swoop gang race. By putting up such a valuable prize, Brejik hopes to win the loyalty of some of the smaller gangs. Their numbers will allow him to finally destroy me and my followers."

"So how to you propose we go about rescuing Bastila, then? We can't fight all the gangs."

Gadon gazed at them for several moments, clearly deep in thought before continuing. "The only hope you have of rescuing Bastila is to somehow win the big season opener of the swoop race."

Jaran snorted. "And just how would I go about doing that?"

"I might be able to help you, if you'd be willing to help us. We both have something to gain here – and much to lose."

"What are you proposing?"

"The swoop race is for the Lower City gangs only. I could sponsor you as a rider for the Hidden Beks this year. If you win the race, you'll win your friend's freedom."

"Now that would be a trick," Jaran responded, shaking his head. "Neither of us have ever even ridden a swoop bike before. Sounds like suicide to me."

"You've never ridden a swoop before?" Gadon asked, surprised. "I have a pretty good eye for these things and you have the look of a racer. Either way, the way I see it, this is your only chance. But first you have to do something for me. My mechanics have developed an accelerator for a swoop engine, which when installed in a bike, can beat any other swoop out there. But the Vulkars stole the prototype from us and plan to use it to guarantee a victory in this year's swoop race. I need you to break into their base and steal it back."

"But your friend here just said that was a bad idea," Carth responded angrily, jerking his thumb at Zaerdra.

"Look, I won't lie to you; breaking into the Vulkar base is dangerous, but it's not impossible. The front doors are locked tight, but I know someone who might be able to get you in the back way – Mission Vao."

Jaran groaned at the same time Zaerdra exclaimed, "Mission? Gadon, you can't be serious! She's just a kid – how is she supposed to help them with this?"

"Mission's explored every step of every back alley in the Lower City," Gadon insisted. "Plus she knows the Undercity sewers better than anyone. If anyone can get inside the Vulkar base, it's her."

"She's the one who sent us to you," Jaran said. "I don't suppose you know where I can find her?"

"Unfortunately, Mission very rarely stays in one place very long. However, she and her Wookiee friend Zaalbar are always looking to stir up a little excitement. They like to go exploring in the Undercity, despite the dangers. Your best bet is to look for her there. But you'll need some way past the Sith guard post at the elevator."

"We still have our Sith uniforms. They should do the trick."

"A simple disguise may have worked on the Upper City guard, but the security down here is much tougher. You'll need the proper papers to get past him. Luckily my gang ambushed one of the Sith patrols headed down to the Undercity. They never made it and their security papers fell into my hands."

Gadon opened a drawer in the desk he was standing behind and rummaged through its contents for a moment, pulling out a folded set of papers. "Since we're working together now I suppose I could give them to you in exchange for your uniforms. With the security papers you won't need a disguise anyway."

"What do you want with the Sith uniforms?" Jaran asked curiously.

"I like to be prepared. Eventually the Sith are going to try to drive us out of the Lower City. Sith disguises might give my people the edge we need in a crucial battle."

Jaran glanced at Carth and with Carth's casual nod of agreement, he turned back to Gadon. "Okay – I'll trade the uniforms for the papers."

"Good choice," Gadon nodded in approval, taking the backpack with the proffered uniforms from Jaran. "Thanks for the uniforms."

"Now," he began again in a businesslike tone, "I suggest you begin looking for Mission at once. The big swoop race is two days from now, so time is of the essence. I can provide guides to get you to the closest elevator down to the Undercity. The rest will be up to you."

"We'll be back with the accelerator," Jaran stated confidently.

Gadon studied Jaran appraisingly. "I don't doubt you will. But as I say, you had better be on your way. Zaerdra, see to it that they have guides to the elevator."

Zaerdra nodded and left toward the entrance to the base. Gadon turned back to Jaran and Carth. "Good luck, gentlemen."

"We'll need it," Carth muttered under his breath, as they turned and walked away from the gang leader.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for your reviews. I know this one took a while to get posted, the next will probably be just as long, although chapter 5 has already been written and should be out soon after chapter 4. I'm interested to see what the reaction to this one will be, as I don't personally think this was one of my better written chapters. I had to force myself through it at times as I did not consider it to be very interesting material in general. Please, critique away. 

anybody17: I agree completely. As I said in my bio, I just think a male RevanXBastila makes much more sense from a story continuity point of view. No flaming please; just my own personal opinion.

Bald as Malak: Thank you for your kind words and your opinions. Good points all. I do agree that showing rather than telling is usually the better way to go, although there are times when telling can be used effectively. I appreciate your comments; they help me improve my wrting skill.

JE


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – A Lifedebt  
**

The trip from the Bek base to the Undercity elevator was uneventful. Their guide, a young, green-skinned Twi'lek, was personable and open, spending the time during the trip educating them on the dangers of the Undercity. Jaran surmised it would not be a pleasant time.

"The first thing you will have to look out for is the rakghouls," he was saying, as Jaran's thoughts drifted back into the conversation.

"Rakghouls?" Carth asked, rubbing his chin. "There was a doctor in the Upper City who talked about them, but he didn't go into much detail."

Their guide snorted derisively. "Typical Upper City arrogance. They think if they ignore a problem, it will just go away."

"So what is a rakghoul?"

"A mutant. A rakghoul is a person who has been infected by the rakghoul virus. It affects the body and the mind, slowly turning a person into a mindless beast. Be very careful – you can become infected by the slightest scratch, or bite from a rakghoul. Of course, that's if you survive an encounter at all. They travel in packs, attack and kill on sight and are not choosy about what they eat. Your best bet is to stay clear and avoid them. Trust me – if you see a rakghoul, find a different way to get where you are going."

"So, if we get scratched we're goners," Jaran said.

"Well, there are rumors of a rakghoul serum, but if it exists the Sith control it strictly and they don't like to share with others. If you could get your hands on some, you could make a killing selling it to the Exchange."

Carth nodded his head thoughtfully. "I ran across a doctor in the Upper City said as much. He said he could duplicate it and mass-produce it if he could get his hands on a sample."

The Twi'lek shrugged. "Then you're probably better to hand it over to him. If the Exchange got their hands on it, they would jack up the prices which would squeeze us even further than they already do. Still, getting it from the Sith is the problem. I doubt they would give it to you if you asked nicely."

"Not likely," Carth replied darkly. "But when it comes to the Sith, I'm not in the habit of asking nicely. So, any other rays of sunshine down there?"

The Twi'lek laughed sardonically at Carth's sarcasm. "Not much. You'll find plenty of people living down there – they call themselves outcasts. They are people who were exiled to the Undercity for some crime or another, real or fabricated. Real meager existence down there, I tell you."

"What about the sewers?" Jaran queried.

"No one really knows much about the sewers, except for Mission and Zaalbar. Most of us are smart enough not to go looking for trouble."

At length, they arrived at the elevator and proceeded on alone with the well wishes of their guide. As Gadon predicted, the Sith soldier guarding the elevator eyed them suspiciously and spent several moments poring over their documents before reluctantly pronouncing them acceptable and allowing them on the elevator.

When the elevator door opened on the floor of the planet, Jaran and Carth found themselves looking out on a dark, dreary landscape. As they stepped out, the first thing Jaran noticed was the damp, clingy feeling of the ground below him, which seemed to be a dark charcoal color, although the dim lighting made it difficult to tell. There were several small, tent-like structures visible around the bases of Taris's towers embedded in the ground, most of which appeared to be made from fabrics which looked as if they were older than he was. There were a few people in evidence, moving this way and that aimlessly, most with slumped shoulders and the beaten faces of people who had given up hope. The entire area around them was surrounded by a high wall.

As they stood gazing around them, they were approached and accosted by two young, very dirty men.

"You there! Up-worlder! Anyone using this elevator has to pay the toll," one of them said, his shaky voice belying his outwardly confident words.

"Yeah, this is our elevator!" chimed in the other. "If you use it, you've got to give us something!"

"I don't believe this planet!" Carth muttered under his breath. "Even the beggars are trying to shake us down."

Their faces were so grimy and pathetic that Jaran's heart immediately went out to them. He said nothing, merely shaking his head and digging into his pocket, placing one hundred credits in each of the startled men's hands. Not bothering to wait to see their reaction, he sidestepped them and started into the Undercity village.

"You might want to be careful with our money," Carth whispered as he caught up. "You've been giving money to every beggar we come across and there's no telling when I'll let you play Pazaak again."

Jaran flashed him a quick grin. "Trust me Carth; they need it more than we do."

Carth simply nodded his eyes on their surroundings. It was not the sort of place where one left one's guard down for very long if one wished to remain breathing.

* * *

Ultimately, there was not much to see in the tiny village – just as their guide had indicated, a miserable, hopeless life for the denizens of the wretched place. Keeping their sights on their goal of finding Mission and her friend, they spent a short time asking the villagers if they had seen her or her Wookiee friend and were rewarded as several told them they had seen the pair walking toward the gate.

That brief time walking around the village, however, was more than enough to ignite Jaran's anger. The sight of such abject suffering and misery reminded him of other places, other times where he had witnessed much the same, atrocities and injustices perpetrated under the false pretense of justice – memories which he would have preferred not to recall. While he guessed that there were those who were criminals among the outcasts, most were undoubtedly here for being on the wrong side of a political battle, or were here for nothing more than the accident of birth – the descendants of those who had once been sent down for crimes, real or fabricated. Surely there were more humane ways of dealing with the socially deviant. Even as he had the thought however, Jaran knew that those in power were not concerned with being civilized – just with finding a cheap and easy way of dealing with an inconvenience.

Only the thought of their mission and the enormity of the stakes kept Jaran focused on their task and allowed him to check the rising fury he felt at the misery of these people. He knew he could do nothing for their plight.

As they approached the gate, they noticed a commotion and moved forward quickly to investigate.

'Hurry, Hendar, hurry!" a woman was screaming. "I can hear it coming!"

As Jaran rushed up, he could see a man running toward the gate, pursued in the distance by several shapes, made indistinct by the gloom.

"He'll never make it," the gate guard returned. "He's doomed. I told him he was a fool to leave the village."

"He WILL make it! Run, Hendar! Run!"

As he ran toward the gate, the fleeing man shouted, "Open the gate! Quickly! There isn't much time!"

"I can't!" the guard yelled back. "The rakghouls are too close!"

The woman spun back to the guard, a look of incredulity on her face. "The mutants will kill him if you don't open the gate!"

"And if I open the gate they will kill us all!" the man snarled in response. "It's his own fault!"

"No! You can't do this!" the woman screamed. "It isn't fair!"

The woman looked about frantically for a moment before spying Jaran. A look of hope blossomed in her eyes. "Please, make him open the gate. Hendar will die if he doesn't!"

Jaran made a snap decision. "Open the gate… we will deal with the rakghouls."

Carth immediately removed his blaster from the holster, readying himself for action. The guard gazed at Jaran incredulously. "You would risk your life for a stranger?"

"Just open the gate!" Jaran commanded.

"You are brave, up-worlder," he responded, and in a low voice, "or foolish."

He turned to the gate and motioned them forward. "I will open the gate for you, but you've got to be quick. In a few seconds I must close and lock it again."

When the gate slid up on its railings, Carth and Jaran charged out into the gloom, with weapons ready. The outcast running toward them faltered for a moment as he caught the unexpected sight of two men with drawn weapons charging out through the gate.

"Get behind us!" Jaran shouted, spurring the man on.

As the outcast sped past Jaran, he caught his first glimpse of a rakghoul. The creature was a sickly, pale white in color, its features a grotesque mockery of a human face; its eyes, the dominant feature, were overlarge and bulbous, a faint pink in color, the nose and mouth mere slits in the creature's face. It was completely hairless. As it ran, it loped along on all four limbs, attaining a tremendous speed, only stopping every so often to peer around it and sniff the air before scurrying off yet again. In its wake were two more of the creatures, following at varying distances.

"Carth, I'll take the first," Jaran instructed. "Keep the others off me until I can deal with this one."

Jaran dashed forward, vibrosword whistling through the air, as blaster fire erupted from behind him. The rakghoul stopped abruptly as Jaran approached, quickly dodging Jaran's first strike, then rushing at Jaran again from behind. Knowing the creature was too close to evade, Jaran crouched down, pivoted and grabbed the rakghoul's arm, throwing it over his shoulder to land in a heap on the ground.

"Jaran, behind you!" Carth's voice rang out.

Jaran whirled and sidestepped all in one motion, his vibrosword whistling through the air, cleaving through the neck of another rakghoul, spraying blood and gore across the battlefield. Jaran watched as the headless corpse collapsed to the ground and the head rolled to a stop several meters behind him. Looking out over the landscape, Jaran could see another rakghoul splayed out on the ground, the remains of its face still smoldering from the impact of Carth's blaster.

Suddenly, Jaran heard a scream echo out from behind him, but before he could do more than flinch, a heavy weight crashed into him from behind. Jaran twisted to avoid landing on the sharp edge of his vibrosword and landed heavily, his breath abruptly leaving his lungs as the creature landed on top of him. Jaran struggled to free himself from the creature as he felt it begin to tear into his unprotected back.

Just as swiftly as the creature appeared, the weight suddenly left his back. Raising his head weakly, Jaran saw the dead body of the rakghoul and his head once again collapsed to the ground as he lay there gasping for air. The entire encounter had taken only a few seconds.

Jaran struggled up to a sitting position as Carth ran up. "Are you alright?"

Jaran grimaced as he rolled over and got to one knee, his right hand, still holding the vibrosword, on the ground steadying him. "Yeah, I'll survive. Serves me right for not paying more attention to a downed enemy."

"Sorry about that, I couldn't get a clean shot on that second one, as he was coming in from directly behind you. I was too busy watching you to take notice of the one you flipped, so I'm every bit as guilty as you are."

Jaran waved off his apology, and struggled to his feet, weaving momentarily before finding his balance. From behind them, the outcast they had saved approached them warily. "Hey there, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Jaran responded. "How are you?"

"Well, thanks to you," the man replied, still eying them warily. "That rakghoul was right on top of you. He didn't… scratch you, did he?"

Suddenly concerned, Carth lifted Jaran's shirt from behind and inspected his back. "No, it all looks clean here. I'd say you got off pretty lucky."

"I'll only be bruised for weeks, instead of a rakghoul tomorrow," Jaran replied sardonically.

"Ah, quit whining like a baby," Carth mocked. "A kolto injection and you'll be as good as new."

All through their banter, the outcast stared at them incredulously, before shaking his head and starting back toward the gate, muttering under his breath. As they were talking, the gate once again rose and the waiting outcast woman flew out of the gate into the man's arms.

"Thank you for saving Hendar," the woman said gratefully, disengaging from the man's arms. "If you hadn't been here, he would have been killed."

"No one deserves to become one of those things," Carth responded.

Jaran's eyes caught the rakghoul he had beheaded and he walked over to inspect the remains of the creature. In contrast to the first rakghoul he had encountered, this one was a more normal color and still had the tattered remnants of clothing hanging from its body. When Jaran examined the head, he found that the face was mostly normal and it still had hair, closely cropped around the skull.

"That was my friend Jax," a voice stated from behind Jaran.

Turning, Jaran regarded Hendar curiously. "You knew this rakghoul?"

Hendar nodded his head, tears forming in his eyes. "We grew up together in this force-forsaken place; I've known him all my life. He disappeared five days ago outside the wall and I had gone looking for him. I never dreamed I would find him like this."

"So it's less than five days for the mutation to begin?"

The outcast shrugged his shoulders. "It depends on the person. Some will succumb in as little as three days, some will hold out for as much as a week."

Jaran looked back at the corpse and shuddered, knowing he had come very close to ending up like this. It was a sobering thought.

"I suggest you get in behind the safety of the gate," Jaran stated firmly, beginning to herd the happy couple back toward the village. With Carth keeping a close eye behind them, they walked back to the gate where the guard was waiting anxiously.

"We're looking for a young Twi'lek by the name of Mission," Jaran said to the guard. "Has she passed this way recently?"

The guard nodded his head, and pointed to the south. "She and her friend Zaalbar passed this way not two hours ago. They were heading south from here."

Jaran thanked the man for his help. They turned toward the south and began cautiously walking away from the gate. As they traveled further away from the village, the subdued sounds of sentient beings gradually faded away until they were walking through complete silence, broken only by the sounds of their feet hitting the ground and the quiet rustling of their clothes. The light was dim, the illumination provided at irregular intervals by artificial lighting set into the sides of the buildings they passed, their purpose long forgotten with the passage of time. There was no vegetation, nothing being able to survive the sunless depths of the Taris landscape, nothing but the slightly tacky feel of the ground below them.

"Hold on a moment, Carth," Jaran said, abruptly stopping. As Carth glanced at him curiously, Jaran reached over his left shoulder and inserted his vibrosword into the sheath. Then he pulled his blaster from the holster and hefted it a couple of times, sighting along its length and generally getting used to the feel again. He had never really liked blasters: they had always seemed a crude, imprecise weapon and he knew that his real talent lay in hand-to-hand fighting.

Nodding to Carth, he hefted his blaster and once again started walking.

"A little too close for comfort?" Carth asked.

"Seems prudent to take them down from a distance," Jaran responded. "I don't think I'm interested in another close encounter like the last."

"Smart," Carth agreed. "So where did you learn to fight like that? I mean, that was the first time I've ever seen you fight and you moved so smoothly and effortlessly."

Jaran shrugged in response. "I've been using a vibrosword all my life and I was a commando for part of the war. I've been on many covert operations and had some training by some of the Jedi. It rubs off on you."

Carth gazed at Jaran, a new level of respect in his eyes. "I guess that answers some of the questions I had about you."

Jaran returned the glance, eyes widening slightly in surprise. "Questions about me? If you had questions you could have just asked."

Carth was silent for several moments. "Not specifically questions about you I suppose," he said at length. "But there are a couple of things that don't really add up."

"What do you mean?"

"Well that battle aboard the Endar Spire for starters," Carth responded. "I've been going over and over it in my head since we crashed. Maybe you could tell me what happened… from your perspective."

Jaran was confused. "I'm not certain what you are getting at. If you are talking about the battle itself, keep in mind I slept through the first part of it. The way I see it, Bastila didn't really have time to use her powers to make any difference. And, I think we were so heavily outnumbered from the start that it wouldn't have made any difference even if she had."

"I suppose… but if Bastila is as powerful as they say… she's the one who defeated Darth Revan, after all."

"Carth, no Jedi ability, no matter how powerful, makes up for being completely surprised and outmatched."

Carth grunted in response. "I guess you are right. We didn't choose that battle anyway – it was forced on us. Hell, I'm just surprised that any of us are alive to talk about it."

"Come to think of it," Carth continued, looking directly at Jaran, "it's more than a little surprising that you happen to be here, isn't it? Just what is your position with the Republic fleet, anyway?"

Jaran sensed that this was the thrust of Carth's entire line of questioning and he was more than a little annoyed.

"Why?" he asked belligerently, stopping and turning to face Carth. "Are you accusing me of something?"

"Not at all," Carth said quickly, a chagrined look appearing on his face. "I just think it's a bit odd that someone who got added to the crew roster at the last minute just happens to be one of the survivors."

"You'd rather I wasn't?" Jaran demanded.

"Don't be ridiculous," Carth responded, his turn to get a little testy. "You've more than proved yourself since the crash… we wouldn't have made it this far without you. But still…"

"Carth," Jaran growled, "if you have something to say, then say it. It sounds to me as if you _think_ I had something to do with the attack."

"No," Carth shook his head. Then he stopped and thought for a moment. "Well… maybe." Then he shook his head before continuing. "I'm sorry, don't get me wrong, I don't _really_ think you had something to do with it. It just seems odd that someone Bastila's party specifically requested to transfer aboard happened to survive."

Jaran regarded Carth, his forehead furrowed in puzzlement. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You didn't know?"

Taking Jaran's mystified look for confirmation, Carth continued. "The request to have you transferred onto the Endar Spire came from Bastila's party. The Jedi requested numerous things when they came on board… hell, they practically took over the ship, as far as I could tell. Considering your connection to Bastila and the Jedi, whether you know it or not, your presence here seems a little convenient."

"Carth, I don't know why I was transferred to the ship. All I was told was that it was a special mission and that my talents would be needed. I had assumed it was because of my past experience in covert operations; it wouldn't be the first time I've been under the direct command of the Jedi."

"Look, don't take offense or anything. I'm probably wrong and this is probably nothing, I know. I learned a long time ago not to take things at face value, however. And I _hate_ surprises."

Jaran was rapidly losing his irritation, to be replaced by a sense of amusement. Carth was stumbling over himself and backtracking so much, it was hard not to be amused. "What do you mean by surprises?"

"I mean I have to expect the unexpected," Carth shot back. "Just to be safe."

Jaran shook his head, a grin firmly planted on his face now. "Are you always this suspicious?"

"Look… it has nothing to do with you personally. I don't trust anyone and I have my reasons."

As Jaran opened his mouth, Carth charged on. "And, no, I'm not going discuss them. So can we just keep our minds on more important things?"

A movement ahead of them in the gloom attracted Jaran's attention. Suddenly becoming aware that neither one had been paying attention to their surroundings, he scanned the area around them quickly. Seeing nothing, he concentrated on the movement in front of them, speaking to Carth aside. "You haven't heard the last from me on this."

Carth sighed. "Sorry, I guess I got a little out of line. We'll talk about it… but later. Right now we should pay attention to where we are."

Nodding his head, Jaran led them off in the direction of the movement he had seen. It was several moments before the black uniform of a Sith trooper took shape in front of them and they relaxed.

The Sith noticed them immediately and began walking toward them, motioning two more Sith to follow. "You there! Civilian! This is a restricted area! What are you doing down here?"

"We've got all the proper security papers," Jaran protested.

"Security papers? Oh… you're one of those trackers the commander sent down, right?"

Jaran nodded his head, not wishing to disabuse the Sith of the perfectly good cover story he had unwittingly given them.

"They should have given you an armed escort – it's nasty down here!"

"Why, what have you seen?" Carth asked.

"We've already lost one patrol – we figure the rakghouls got them. We've had so many encounters with those things we've actually run out of rakghoul serum."

Jaran glanced at Carth, suddenly disappointed. There would be no serum from these troopers.

"We've also had several skirmishes with looters from those Lower City swoop gangs," the trooper continued. "I'm telling you, we should just stay in the Upper City where we're in control!"

"You said you lost one patrol already?"

"Oh, is that why you're down here? Search and rescue? I didn't think they would send anyone. They were located somewhere south of here when we lost contact. I would have gone to investigate, but my orders are to search for those crashed escape pods… even if it means leaving another patrol to die."

Jaran nodded his head in thanks. "I should be going now. But thanks for the tip."

"I guess you're right. The commander won't be too happy if you come back empty, right? Same thing goes for us." Turning, he motioned to his group to follow and they walked away, back in the direction of the village.

* * *

Jaran and Carth had not walked more than five minutes before they heard a sound off to their left and in the gloom, they could see a figure running toward them.

Realizing instantly that this figure did not move in the same, four-legged gait which the rakghouls used, he lowered his weapon, motioning Carth to do the same. As the figure materialized before them, Jaran began to recognize the head tails streaming behind and the slightly bluish tinge and abruptly realized they had found Mission.

As she ran up to them, tears streaming down her distraught face, she called out to them. "Please, you have to help me! Nobody else is going to help me. Even the Beks won't help me. But I can't just leave him there – he's my friend! You'll help me, won't you?"

"Whoa, slow down, Mission," Carth said. "What's wrong?"

"It's Zaalbar! He's in trouble – big trouble! We have to help him. If we don't they'll sell him into slavery!"

"Calm down, Mission," Jaran said, reaching out a hand to steady her. Take a deep breath and tell us what happened."

Mission stood gasping for several moments, taking in big tremulous breaths before she was able to calm herself enough to speak clearly. "Me… me and Zaalbar were just wandering around here in the Undercity. You know, looking for stuff we could find, just kind of exploring. We do it all the time."

"Isn't it a little unsafe to be wandering around down here?" Jaran asked.

Carth shrugged and answered for her. "I guess with a Wookiee at your side, you've got to figure you can handle the odd rakghoul attack."

Mission nodded vigorously. "Yeah, and we know how to avoid them too. But this time, they were waiting for us. Gamorrean slave hunters. We didn't even have a chance to run. Big Z threw himself at them and he roared for me to run! I… I took off; I figured Zaalbar would be right behind me. But there were too many of them – he couldn't get away. They're going to sell him to a slaver – I just know it!"

Carth and Jaran exchanged a look. "Do you know where they took him?"

"I don't know for sure, but those Gamorreans like to hang out in the sewers. The stink reminds them of home, I guess. That's probably where they took him."

"Mission, we can help you rescue Zaalbar," Jaran said. "But I need you to help me with something in return."

"That's why we're down here," Carth interjected. "We came looking for you."

"What do you need?" Mission asked, her anxiety abruptly replaced by a wave of curiosity.

"We need to find a way into the Vulkar base and Gadon told us you may know of a way."

Mission considered this for several seconds before responding. "I do know of a way," she admitted. "I'll tell you what. You help me find Zaalbar first and then I'll take you to the entrance of the Vulkar base."

"Deal," Jaran agreed, extending his hand, which she took and shook vigorously. "Thank you, Mission."

"Okay then, you old guys try and keep up with me now," she said mischievously, and turned to walk away.

It became evident very quickly that Mission knew this section of the Undercity well and they were fortunate to have her to guide them. As they walked, Jaran watched her closely, noting the way she concentrated on their path. As they walked on, every so often she would stop abruptly and peer into the gloom ahead, and once or twice, she unexpectedly changed course and skirted an area which Jaran would not have considered dangerous. Soon, Jaran was appreciative of her skill and experience, without which they certainly would have blundered into several unpleasant encounters.

At length, however, she stopped and motioned them forward. "The entrance to the sewers is just up ahead," she told them in a low voice. "There are often rakghouls in this area, so we need to be cautious and quiet."

At their nods of understanding, she began moving ahead once again. For several moments they glided forward, stopping every so often when Mission raised her hand for them to stop and at those times she peered forward into the gloom, or moved ahead on her own to scout the area.

It was Mission who spotted the first body, a rakghoul lying on the ground with a blaster wound in its chest. Nearby, the body of a Sith soldier lay, its remains badly mangled, with body parts strewn about in a haphazard manner, the ground around it soaked in blood. Clearly their friend from the Beks had been correct when he had warned them that rakghouls would eat anything.

"Jaran!" Carth called. Jaran looked up and saw Carth waving him to the side of another Sith corpse, one which was in better condition than the one he had been examining.

"This body is hardly untouched," Mission said, clearly puzzled. "Usually they leave all remains like that of our other friend over there.

Jaran bent over and began to search the body of the Sith soldier. As Mission had indicated, this soldier had had his throat torn out by the rakghouls, after which they had left him largely alone. A search of the man's pockets turned up several vials of smoky-gray liquid.

Carth whistled in appreciation. "Looks like we managed to find that patrol that got taken out, and they have some rakghoul serum with them."

Mission peered back and forth between them, completely astonished. "Rakghoul serum? You mean it actually exists."

"We ran into a patrol after leaving the village," Jaran explained. "The soldier mentioned the serum then in the same breath as this patrol. I never thought we'd find it though."

"Well, it seems as though rakghouls don't like that serum, because they left this one alone after they killed him," Mission stated.

Jaran handed Carth two vials of the serum and pocketed the rest. "We'll have to get this up to that doctor you found in the Upper City." As he rose to leave, a glint of metal caught Jaran's eye and he reached down and took hold of the dead trooper's vibrosword, which had been partially concealed under his body. He turned it over in his hands, examining it expertly. The blade was keen and the grip fit in his hand perfectly. It was obviously a quality weapon.

He reached down, unbuckled the sheath and slung it over his shoulder opposite his own vibrosword, inserting the weapon once it was in place. Once he had his new vibrosword in place, Jaran rose to discover Carth and Mission regarding him curiously.

"What, one not good enough for you?" Carth teased.

"I'm used to fighting with two," Jaran responded. "I lost my other one in a fight with Sith troopers a couple weeks before I was posted to the Spire."

Jaran turned to Mission before Carth could respond. "Now Mission, where is this entrance to the sewers? Let's go and find your friend."

Mission nodded and led them off once again. Within moments, a door loomed in front of them. Mission punched the entrance code into the panel beside the door and it slid open, revealing the interior.

"This is just the entrance hall to the main sewers," Mission told them as they stepped inside, closing the door after them. The hallway they were in was short – no more than thirty meters to the other end, where another door stood. "We'll need to move quickly and quietly – there are many dangers in the sewers."

The traversed the hallway in silence and opened the door at the far end of the hall, waiting with weapons drawn, wary of what awaited them on the other side. Their caution, however warranted, was unfounded in this instance, as the Taris sewer system opened up to their eyes with no one in sight. Jaran motioned Mission to lead the way and he and Carth fell in behind, their blasters still held loosely in their hands, ready for anything. But as they walked deeper into the sewer system, nothing challenged them and they were accompanied only by the sound of their presence and heavy smell of corrosion in the air along the dimly lit walkway.

At length, they arrived at another door and opened it with the same result – no denizens of that hellish place stepped forward to challenge their intrusion. The hallway beyond the door split into two directions.

Jaran glanced questioningly at Mission, who responded with a gesture. "The left hallway will eventually take you to the Vulkar base. The Gamorreans usually hang out somewhere down the other hallway." As she spoke, she directing a challenging look at Jaran and he was certain she was wondering if they would try to renege on their agreement.

Jaran merely gestured toward the hallway to the right, indicating that she should lead on. Mission gazed at him momentarily, a look of approval in her eyes, before continuing down the corridor.

"Don't worry, Mission," Jaran said as they continued down the hallway, "I gave you my word that we would help find your friend and I always keep my word."

Mission glanced briefly back at Jaran and smiled broadly at him. "Don't get me wrong. I've just sort of gotten used to everyone trying to shake me down – get what they want out of me and then set me adrift. It's happened more times than I can count."

"I don't blame you for doubting us – I'm sure you've seen it all before."

Mission just nodded and continued on their path. As they walked along, every so often the path would branch off in two or more directions and they came across more than one main drainage location in their journey. But through all of these, Mission chose their path confidently and without a hint of hesitation.

At length, she stopped before a door on the right side of the passage and turned to face her companions. "We'll find the Gamorreans somewhere on the other side of this door. I'm not as familiar with section because we haven't been able to explore since they started using this area as a base. We'll have to be very careful from this point on."

Jaran peered at her face as she was speaking, but he could detect no trace of fear in either her voice or her face. His admiration for her maturity and resourcefulness increased. It was easy to tell she was not fazed by tough situations and this was no exception. She was determined to save her friend.

She punched the panel and the door opened to reveal another hallway which slanted upward for about twenty meters, before curving around to the left. Again Mission led the way up the path, before stopping abruptly and motioning for Carth and Jaran to stay where they were. She edged ahead to the corner and quickly peered around, before backtracking and pulling Jaran and Carth back several meters.

"There's one piggy standing guard down the hallway," she whispered. "We need to find some way of taking him down before he can raise the alarm."

"Let me have a look," Jaran returned.

Creeping down the hall, he quickly snuck a look down the hallway. As Mission had said, there was a single Gamorrean standing guard, restlessly pacing up and down the corridor. Gamorreans were not temperamentally suited for guard duty.

Edging back away from the corner, Jaran quickly made his way back to his companions. "Well, I can't get close enough to him to take him down without his sounding the alarm. How thick are these doors, Mission?"

"Not very," Mission responded with a shrug. "They're not exactly sound proof, but they should mask it well enough that if there is anything going on inside, they probably won't notice."

"Good," Jaran nodded. "I think the best way to do this would be to take him out with a blaster. They may still hear the blaster discharge, but I think it's a better chance than if I try to rush him. He's just too far away."

"Then I guess it's up to me," Carth said, hefting his blaster. "No offense, Jaran, but I've seen how you handle a blaster."

"None taken, Carth" Jaran laughed softly. "It's obvious you are a far better shot than I am."

Carth grinned in response. He checked his blaster once, before easing off to the corner and taking a quick look around to orient himself. Once he had the position of the guard firmly in his head, he took at couple of deep breathes, stepped out in the corridor and released a single blaster shot. Mission and Jaran charged around the corner from behind him, just in time to see the Gamorrean fall to the floor. Warily, Jaran moved forward toward the downed guard, keeping an eye on the door at the same time.

The door never opened, however, and one look at the guard told Jaran he was dead.

"Carth, Mission," he called softly behind him. "How do you want to handle this?"

"Take them by surprise and hit them with blaster fire," Carth returned with a shrug. "If there aren't too many of them, we should be able to take them out before they know it."

Jaran raised an eyebrow at Mission.

"Sorry, I can't tell you how many there are," she answered his unspoken question. "There were at least five when they jumped us, but there are probably more."

Jaran thought momentarily. Gamorreans usually did not use blasters, generally preferring a heavy axe as their primary weapon. If there weren't many, Carth was right – they would be easy to pick off from a distance. If there were more than they thought…

"I think you're right, Carth," he said at length. "Anyway, the way I see it, we don't have much of a choice."

Carth nodded and they took their positions. "You two open fire as soon as the door opens," Jaran directed, easing his vibroswords from their sheaths. "If any of them get too close, I'll cover you. I should be able to bottleneck them at the door until you can pick most of them off. Now, are you two ready?"

When they both nodded their heads in acceptance, Jaran stepped toward the door and pressed the access panel.

The door swung open to reveal at least half a dozen pig-like aliens lounging in various parts of the room. As he had expected, the room stank of sweat, unwashed aliens and the slight undercurrent of urine. If Zaalbar was hidden somewhere away in this area, his keen sense of smell was likely protesting vehemently.

Blaster fire erupted from either side of Jaran and two of the aliens went down before they could react. Jaran crouched low, allowing his companions complete access to the room beyond. As they continued firing, more Gamorreans fell to the floor, but the door at the opposite end of the room opened to allow more of the aliens access to the room.

Jaran watched impassively as his companions decimated the slavers with a withering hail of blaster fire and only just managed to duck out of the way as an axe whistled past his face, accompanied by the shrill squeal of rage from the Gamorrean who had been hiding just around the corner out of sight. Whirling, Jaran brought his vibrosword up just in time to deflect another swing from the slaver, as the alien charged through the door toward him. As the Gamorrean brought his axe up for a third strike, Jaran pivoted and brought his right vibrosword across to deflect the axe to the floor, swinging his left at the same time to dig deeply into the creature's unprotected back.

The Gamorrean squealed in rage and pain and Jaran quickly brought its suffering to an end when he brought his vibroswords back up and impaled his opponent from behind with both blades.

Turning around, he surveyed the room – and took in the scene of complete carnage. The Gamorrean slavers had been completely annihilated by his companions' blaster fire and there were no more opponents for him to fight.

Jaran crept into the room, alert for any potential enemies pretending to be dead, but no movement greeted him. He glanced back at Mission and Carth, waving them into the room as he cleaned his blades on the body of an alien before inserting them once more into their sheaths.

Mission immediately approached a door set in the left wall of the room and began to examine the lock as her two companions stood guard.

"Hmmm… look at this," she said. "This is one of those old style manual locks. No computer codes or nothing. The sewers is the only place you'll see one of these on Taris."

"Can you get it open?" Carth asked warily.

"Not by slicing it conventionally," Mission replied. "But don't worry; I've come across these before."

For several moments, Carth and Jaran waited while Mission worked on the lock. Ultimately, however, she was as good as her word and the door slid open to reveal a relieved Wookiee.

Zaalbar rushed from the room and caught Mission in huge hug, roaring excitedly in his own language, "You're a sight for sore eyes, Mission."

"I'm glad to see you too, Big Z!" Mission's muffled voice came from Zaalbar's chest. "You didn't think I'd forget about you – Mission and Zaalbar, together forever!"

Zaalbar swung her around the room, before putting her down again and facing Jaran. "Who's that with you?"

"Good to meet you, Zaalbar," Jaran said, "I'm Jaran Kalind. Mission ran into us and told us about your predicament."

"Yeah, Zaalbar," Mission agreed, "without them I never could have got you out."

The big Wookiee scrutinized Jaran for several moments. "You know the language of my people? That is rare among your species; I am impressed."

"I've met Wookiees in the past and managed to pick up some of your language, just don't ask me to speak it to you."

Zaalbar threw his head back and roared with laughter. "One of your species actually able to speak Shyriiwook! That would truly be a sight to see."

Jaran grinned back at him, immensely enjoying the company of the exuberant Wookiee. The ones he had met in the past had been quiet and reserved – at least until they became angry, anyway.

Zaalbar once again focused his attention on Jaran. "You have saved me from a life of servitude and slavery. There is only one way I can ever repay such an act: I will swear a lifedebt to you."

Jaran's smile fell away from his face as he stared at the Wookiee in shock.

"A lifedebt?" Mission asked, her eyes big as saucers. "Are you sure about that, Big Z?"

"I am sure, Mission," Zaalbar responded, his eyes never leaving Jaran's face.

"Big Z swearing a Wookiee lifedebt to you," she said to Jaran. "Wow – this is major. Do you realize what this means?"

"I know what a lifedebt is, Mission," Jaran answered quietly, as he studied the Wookiee intently. "Zaalbar, I… _we_ did no more for you than we would have done for anyone else and I certainly don't consider myself a hero for having done this much. I would ask you to reconsider."

Zaalbar shook his head. "This is an issue of great importance to me. Because of our great physical strength, Wookiees are being used as slave labor on our own homeworld." As he spoke, his voice became louder, the roars coming out stronger, clipped. "They see us as brutes and animals to be exploited. Over the years slavers have taken many of my people; we must always be on guard against raids on our villages."

Zaalbar paused and took a huge breath of air to calm himself. "When the Gamorreans captured me, I thought I was doomed to a life of servitude. I have been saved from such a fate and the only way I can repay that is through a lifedebt."

"A lifedebt is the most solemn vow a Wookiee can make," Mission said, awed. "It means he'll stay by your side for the rest of your life – wherever you go, whatever you do, Zaalbar will be with you."

"I understand," Jaran acknowledged, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

"In the presence of you all I swear my lifedebt," Zaalbar intoned formally. "Forever after I will be by your side, Jaran Kalind. May my vow be as strong as the roots of the great Wroshyr trees of Kashyyyk."

"I am honored to accept this vow," Jaran said, forcing a smile to his face. In reality, he felt a little sick to his stomach. A Wookiee lifedebt was not only a big deal to the Wookiee people, but it was also a huge responsibility for him to live up to. Everything he did, every decision he made from this time forward would affect the Wookiee as well as himself.

Mission regarded Jaran appraisingly, seemingly understanding what he was feeling. "I guess this means you're stuck with me too. Wherever Big Z goes, I'm going. I almost lost him once – it's not going to happen again."

"You may live to regret that decision, Mission," Jaran responded with a laugh. "But, I am glad to have you aboard."

"You just remember that," Mission said mischievously.

"Well, now we need to decide on our next step."

"I guess I still owe you one secret path into the Vulkar base," Mission affirmed. "That was the deal, wasn't it? Don't worry, I know a back door into that scum den!"

Carth meanwhile, was directing a slightly mystified look in Jaran's direction. "We continue on into the Vulkar base and find this accelerator, just like Mission said."

"It's more than just that. We've been concentrating so much on finding Bastila, we haven't thought about what we will do once we actually locate her."

"Whoa, wait a second!" Mission interrupted. "Bastila? _The Bastila?_ Is that who you two are looking for?"

"Yes, Mission. We are Republic soldiers and we are trying to find Bastila Shan. She crashed here in one of those escape pods and is now being held by the Vulkars for that big swoop bike race."

Mission whistled. "Wow – this is big! I never thought Big Z and me would get caught up in something like this!"

"Now you know why I said you may regret coming with us."

"Let's get back to the point," Carth interrupted testily. "What were you talking about?"

"Just this, Carth. Even if we find Bastila, we will still have the problem of getting off this planet before Malak decides to do something insane."

Carth appeared taken aback at Jaran's words. "Why? What do you think he will do?"

Jaran thought for a moment. It was difficult to pinpoint his feeling of disquiet. He could see visions of the last moments of the Endar Spire, along with other, more distant memories of huge turbolaser batteries firing, worlds dying, and the screams of the victims of horrible atrocities, swirling around in his head. But however he tried, he could not dispel the premonition, the certainty that something terrible would soon happen. Time was running out.

"Hey, are you still there?" Carth's anxious voice interrupted.

Focusing his gaze back on his companions, it was clear they were concerned over his little jaunt into the confines of his skull.

"I'm fine," Jaran assured them. "I don't know what will happen, Carth. But I get the feeling that time is running out. You saw what Malak did to the Endar Spire with his own troops on board and you're intimately familiar with what he did to Telos."

Carth's expression darkened at the memory, while Mission went white and Zaalbar started growling dangerously under his breath. "You think he's going to do that to Taris?"

"I don't know, Carth," Jaran responded. "But I don't want to stay around and find out. Bastila's enough of a threat to him – he could be capable of anything."

Carth's forehead furrowed and his eyes slightly unfocussed as he appeared to digest Jaran's words. After a moment, he looked back at his companion and said, "So what do you suggest?"

"I think we should split up. You go back to the Upper City, get this serum to that doctor you found and try to find us a way off this planet. I'll go into the Vulkar base and retrieve the accelerator."

"And what about us?" Mission asked, indicating Zaalbar and herself.

"You go with him. Carth will need your help. You know the people of this area and with your help, Carth just might be able to make the contact we need."

"Wouldn't it be better to stay together?" Carth challenged. "You are proposing going into this base by yourself. You'll end up getting yourself killed."

"Backup will do me very little good here, not unless we were to go in with a whole battalion of troops. There are four of us now and if we all went traipsing through the Vulkar base, we'd be inviting discovery. I'll have a much greater chance of success if I go into the base alone."

"So why don't you go back up then?" Carth asked belligerently. "I'm just as capable of doing this as you are and I've actually met Bastila, where you haven't."

Jaran felt a flash of anger at Carth's accusatory tone, but he brutally forced it down and willed himself to remain calm. "Carth, you heard what Gadon said; we're not going to find Bastila in the Vulkar base. I'm not questioning your competence, Carth. But I've been trained for covert missions and I'm in my element on an operation like this, whereas your training is as a soldier and pilot – and you do those things very well I might add. But trust me Carth; you couldn't skulk if your life depended on it."

Carth snorted in amusement, as Jaran continued, "I'll find that accelerator. But we need to have a way off this rock and I suspect we'll need it sooner rather than later. With Mission and Zaalbar's help, you stand a good chance of finding something."

"Hey Jaran," Mission said suddenly, "I don't mean to burst your bubble or anything, but I think you'd stand a better chance if I go with you."

Zaalbar immediately began to complain that he should be the one to go, but Jaran silenced him with a quick hand motion. "What makes you say that?"

"I know this place and I know the Vulkars. And, do you know how to slice into a computer system?"

"I'm no expert," Jaran admitted, "but I have sliced a computer or two in my time."

"Yeah, well that won't be good enough," Mission snorted belligerently. "The Lower City gangs have good security systems in place – they have to or they would be an open target. You need me along to help you get past their security and slice into their system. Otherwise, you'll never find what you're looking for."

Jaran considered her words. She was right – he was no slicer. He _would _likely need help and she was a good one to give him that help.

"Okay, Mission, we'll do it your way."

Mission beamed at him, but Zaalbar started complaining immediately.

"Sorry, Zaalbar," Jaran responded sternly, "but two is stretching it and three is definitely too many. I understand the gravity of your oath, but you will have to understand that you will not be able to hover over me every waking moment of every day."

The Wookiee didn't look very happy, but he grudgingly roared his acceptance.

Turning back to Carth, Jaran immediately noted the soldier's own displeasure with the outcome of their discussion. "So what's it going to be, Carth?" he asked.

Carth was silent for several moments before throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. "Fine, we'll do it your way."

"The Upper City Cantina is as good a place as any to start," Mission chimed in helpfully.

"I'll keep that in mind," Carth responded. Turning toward the Wookiee, Carth said, "Well, Zaalbar, we better get moving."

"Be careful in there," he said back to Jaran before he turned and walked toward the exit with Zaalbar in tow.

"So where is this entrance?" Jaran asked Mission once the two of them were alone.

"Up in the Northeast section of the sewers," Mission replied. "We'd probably be better to hole up for a while and head in overnight, when they are asleep."

Jaran nodded distractedly as they made their way from the Gamorreans' hideout. This night was almost certain to turn interesting.

* * *

A/N: Once again, thank you for the reviews. This one has been a long time coming and although I'm still not completely satisfied with the way it turned out, I decided that it was time to post. I must apologize however - when I wrote chapter 3, I had forgotten how much there was yet to cover before the swoop bike race. Therefore, the next chapter is not the one which was pre-written, but will end up being the one after the next. I will try to get the next out soon, but make no promises. 

JE


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I am not making any money from this and am doing it purely for my own enjoyment. I own nothing.

**Chapter 5 – The Vulkar Base**

Mission and Jaran holed up in an abandoned control room, intent on catching a few hours sleep before attempting the infiltration of the Vulkar base. With the events of the day, not to mention Jaran's lack of sleep from the night before, he found that he was exhausted. It took only moments for him to drop off into a deep slumber.

"So where are we going?" Jaran queried as they left their hideout, just past the middle of the night.

Mission grinned impishly at him. "Just follow me."

They retraced their path from the day before, past the Gamorreans' hideout and straight back to the entrance to the sewers. Then Mission turned in the direction she had previously indicated as leading to the Vulkar base and pressed the door release. As the door slid open, a short hallway appeared with a console set halfway down its length and a force field covering a door to the left.

Jaran turned to regard his grinning companion. "Eventually take you to the Vulkar base?" he quoted.

Mission merely kept on smirking at Jaran. "Hey, it's still a ways away," she responded. "This is just the last branch in the corridor before the Vulkar base, so they blocked it off here."

"Luckily, you're with me," she continued as she approached the console. "I'm the only non-Vulkar on the planet who knows the code."

Jaran watched as she punched a number of keys on the keyboard and the force field shimmered out of existence. Once again Mission grinned impishly at Jaran before starting off down the corridor.

"How did you get that code?" Jaran asked curiously.

"Me and Zaalbar were following a couple of Vulkars one day. I watched them around the door as they entered the code on the console and was able to figure it out from what I could see."

"Handy," Jaran commented.

"Nah, not really. Never found a use for it until now. I just hope that rancor monster isn't still there."

Jaran stopped dead in his tracks. "Rancor? Are you serious?"

Mission stopped and regarded Jaran sheepishly. "There used to be a rancor monster that made its nest in that part of the sewers. Pretty much eats anything it can get its claws on. That thing is huge!"

"And you just remembered this?" Jaran asked, incredulous. "A rancor monster in the sewers is hardly the sort of insignificant detail that one would just forget about."

"Well, rancors aren't too bright, so we should be able to sneak past it," she stated nonchalantly. "Of course if you'd rather turn back…"

"That's not really an option, now is it?"

"Well then, let's go!"

Jaran watched Mission walk away momentarily before moving after her, chuckling under his breath; with Mission around, life was certainly not dull!

"So how do you suggest we get past that rancor?" he asked as he caught up to her.

"Like I said, I was able to make my way past it. If we can create a diversion or just catch it napping, we should be able to get past without too much trouble."

"That's a lot of ifs," Jaran muttered under his breath.

Mission looked sidelong at Jaran. "Ah, come on!" she teased. "You're a big, tough soldier; you should be able to handle a little old rancor."

"Big tough soldiers are a totally different thing from twelve-foot monsters," Jaran grumbled.

"Oh quit your whining already!" Mission snapped, her sly grin belying the mock seriousness of her words. "We'll find a way around it, you'll see."

Jaran made no response as he followed her along the corridors of the Tarisian sewer system. As they progressed toward the rancor den, Jaran found himself paying less attention to their surroundings and more to the current situation and task. Or more properly, he was worrying about their situation, as he was readily able to admit to himself.

So intensely focused had they been during the mission to find Bastila that neither he nor Carth had spared any thought or energy to the question of what they would do when they managed to locate her. However, in the back of his mind Jaran had felt a growing sense of danger, although he could not pinpoint the source, which had prompted him to insist on Carth undertaking the task of procuring their passage off the planet – if such a thing existed.

Truth be told, although Jaran had deliberately avoided thinking about it, he knew the odds were stacked against them. The Sith held all the cards; the only things he and Carth had going for them was the fact thatthey were still free and theirslim chance of winning the swoop bike race for the Beks, which may or may not lead them to their missing Jedi. His training and experience had taught him there was always a chance, no matter how bleak a situation appeared. Jaran clung to that thought as events propelled him forward on a mission he would never have dreamed of undertaking when the adventure had begun.

"So, Jaran," Mission spoke, breaking the silence, "you never told me how you ended up here. I mean… it's not every day a famous Jedi crashes on a backwater planet and draws a crowd looking for her."

"No Mission, I suppose it doesn't happen every day," Jaran responded mysteriously.

Mission's indignant expression drew a laugh from the soldier. "Look, if me and Zaalbar are in this with you for the long haul, I think we at least deserve an explanation."

"I suppose you probably do at that," Jaran agreed, still chuckling. "So what would you like to know, oh inquisitive one?"

"Like maybe why you were here in the first place."

"I'm sorry Mission, but I can't tell you that. All I know is that I was ordered to the Endar Spire before we left Coruscant and told that I would be given my mission at the destination. My commanding officers aren't exactly known for sharing war strategy with mere soldiers."

"But you must have some idea."

Jaran shrugged dismissively. "I assume that I was dispatched to Taris to make contacts with any underground resistance in an attempt to liberate the planet. I was in covert operations for two years during the Mandalorian Wars and thought that was the reason why I was sent on this mission."

Mission was silent for several moments as she thought about Jaran's words. "But why Taris?" she asked at length. "It's not as if there are any important hyperspace routes through this dump any more and nothing that would make it important either."

"I don't know," he shrugged again. "As I said, my commanding officers…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Mission interrupted with exasperation.

"Sorry Mission, I'm not trying to put you off, but I can't answer your questions. I was told nothing more than that I would be given my instructions once we arrived at our destination. Force, for all I know, Taris may simply have been a stop along the way."

Mission opened her mouth to respond, when she was interrupted by an angry roar, which echoed through the sewers.

Jaran glanced at Mission, who had stopped short. "Looks like your rancor is still around," he said with a grin.

"Yeah… and we better be a little more careful from here on in."

They continued on in silence until, at length, the corridor ended with a door in the wall at their right. Jaran stepped boldly to the door and pressed the access panel.

He immediately rued his rash decision, as the stench of death quickly assaulted his senses. The corridor extended perhaps ten meters into the room beyond the door, opening into a shadowy interior, the details of which he could barely make out. He could tell, however, that it was a large room and looked to be long and rectangular in shape. It also exceeded the worst charnel pit Jaran had ever seen. Even with the dim light, Jaran saw the grisly remains of countless bodies haphazardly littering the floor, blood and gore splattered everywhere.

Jaran glanced at Mission, who had brought a corner of her jacket up to cover her face.   
"Pretty much eats anything, I'd say."

"I told you."

"Yes Mission, I have seen a rancor before. What I'm wondering is, how in the force did that thing end up here?"

"I don't know," Mission shrugged. "But it's way too big to get out now."

Jaran shook his head at the stupidity of the creature. "How ever it got to Taris, I expect it wandered in here and stayed until it was too large to get out. Let me guess, its diet now consists mainly of rakghouls?"

"Pretty much; they're too stupid to know they're easy prey. Every so often the Vulkars will also throw it a treat. I hear they like to do that with any Beks they manage to get their hands on."

Jaran nodded, expecting as much. "Wait here for a moment; I want to have a quick look."

At Mission's nod, Jaran slid a vibrosword out of its sheath and cautiously edged forward, creeping along the wall to his left to the point where it opened up into the main part of the room. Jaran cautiously stuck his head around the corner and peered out into the dim light, finally spying the huge beast on the other side of an area which was larger than Jaran had thought. It was sitting on its haunches, its massive claws clutching a large bone, on which it was gnawing vigorously.

Jaran crept back to where Mission waited and looked at her intently. "So, any bright ideas?"

"I told you, I was able to sneak past it last time. Maybe we can create a diversion."

As Jaran leaned his back against the wall to consider this, his eyes wandered across the remains of a severed arm on the floor near the entrance to the rancor's lair, the hand still clutching a datapad and a small vial of liquid. Curious, Jaran bent down, pulled the objects from the hand and activated the datapad. It was understandably damaged from the beating it had taken when it (and the hand that possessed it) had encountered the huge beast. Jaran puzzled over it briefly before glancing at Mission, who stood regarding him with a slightly exasperated expression on her face.

"I know, I know… you're the computer expert," he said with a laugh and handed the datapad to Mission, who accepted it eagerly.

After working on the machine for several moments, Mission looked up at her companion. "It's pretty badly damaged. About all I can make out on it is something about a 'synthetic odor'. Everything else is wiped out."

Jaran held the vial up to the light, taking note of the sluggish, brown liquid. "Synthetic odor… but of what?"

Mission shrugged and went back to toying with the datapad, while Jaran pondered the vial in his hand. He opened the stopper and held the vial to his nose, but other than a slightly meaty sort of smell, he could not detect anything which would help him determine the intended use of the substance.

"Did you find anything else?" he asked as Mission tossed the broken datapad into the corner.

"Nah," Mission responded with a slight shake of the head. "Too badly chewed up. How about you?"

"Well, smelling it certainly doesn't tell me anything. But the way I see it, it has to be for one of two things. Either it's meant to drive the rancor away, or lure it."

"Why would you want to draw it any _closer_?" Mission demanded. "I'd think you'd want to stay just about as far away as possible.

"To lure it into a trap?"

Mission looked mystified. "I'm not sure about that. There's nowhere to trap it around here… it's a big open room and the thing's just to big to fit through the door."

"Hmmm…" Jaran responded, looking back into the rancor's lair. Reaching into his pouch, he produced a thermal detonator and glanced back at Mission. "How about this then? We hide this in some of the remains out there and sprinkle the vial over top of it."

"You think it will draw the rancor close?"

Jaran nodded his head. "It seems to make sense. I think this fellow wanted to get rid of the rancor altogether. Maybe he was part of a rival gang looking for a way to make a surprise attack. I can set the detonator so that the timer will only begin when it is disturbed. The rancor eats it and then presto… rancor guts all over the place!"

Mission considered this. "It's just crazy enough that it might work. _If_, of course, your theory about it attracting the rancor is right."

"It seems to make sense. If it doesn't do what we think, then we just have to find some other way to get past it. But if this works, it's the easiest, safest way to go. I don't think we have any choice but to try."

"Whatever you say, Jaran."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Jaran replied wryly. He turned and looked back into the room; spying a particularly large heap of remains and motioning Mission to stay put, he slipped cautiously, stealthily out into the rancor's lair.

As he suspected, he was far enough away from the creature to escape attracting its attention as long as he made no noise. Reaching his destination, Jaran worked quickly to plant the thermal detonator in the pile of remains, rigging it so the timer would not activate until it was moved. He then unstopped the vial of liquid, sprinkled its contents liberally over the pile and hastily exited the area.

"Do you think it will work?" Mission asked anxiously.

"If our theory is correct and if that stuff actually does what I think it was meant to do."

They did not have long to wait. Mere moments after Jaran had exited the room, they heard the beast begin to lumber its way closer to the hidden detonator. As it stomped into view, Jaran smiled smugly. He knew he had guessed correctly by the way the creature was moving its head and by the snuffling sounds emanating from the two slits between its eyes.

They watched with morbid fascination as the rancor continued to snuffle the area, its head weaving this way and that, all the while moving closer to the trap. When it had approached to within several meters, it suddenly pounced, reaching down with both claws into the refuse and scooping up bones, flesh and the waiting detonator and swallowing them all at once.

At Jaran's motion, they moved away from the open door to wait around the corner from the door. A muffled explosion split the stillness of the sewers, followed by a loud thud. When they peered around the corner the creature lay still on its back, its hide rent in several places by the force of the explosion, its head almost completely blown off.

"Well then, that's a little more like it," Jaran commented, as he moved past the still-twitching corpse to the far end of the hall. "How far is it from here?"

"It should be just the other side of that door," Mission replied. "So what is your plan from here?"

"Sneak in, steal the accelerator and get out as quickly as possible."

"Brilliant plan," Mission responded sardonically. "C'mon, you _gotta_ have something better than that."

"It all depends on what we run into when we get in there," Jaran said with a shrug. "If there's no one around, we should be able to get to a terminal, find out where the accelerator is and get it without too much fuss. If we do run into some trouble, relieving a couple of Vulkars of their jackets and trying to blend in could also work."

"Sorry, Jaran," Mission interrupted, "it's a good thing you brought me along if you were thinking of trying that. Anyone who saw you would know right away you're not a member; you just don't have the scruffy, slightly crazy gang-member look to you."

Jaran laughed at her mocking tone of voice. "So how does one _look_ like a Vulkar?"

"Well," replied Mission, airily, "first, you need to have that 'I'm a total scum' gleam in your eyes. I don't know how you get it, but the Vulkars don't recruit anyone who wouldn't stab their own mother in the back for fun. And somehow they seem to know the worst jerks on sight."

"I didn't know they were such an… exclusive… fraternity," Jaran drawled.

Mission smirked again. "Well, now you do."

"All right then," Jaran decided, "we go through without attracting attention. It's late and they should mostly be asleep, so it shouldn't be too difficult."

"And one more thing, Mission," Jaran added, stopping to face his companion. "If we run into anyone, let me handle it. Only use that blaster of yours as a last resort."

"Sure, Jaran."

The exit from the rancor's den opened onto a short, upward-sloping corridor which ended in a door. There was no one in the corridor and nothing but a few crates stacked against the wall near the other door.

Jaran regarded Mission questioningly. "Is that it?"

Mission shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, I've never been this far."

Readying himself for anything, Jaran slipped one of his vibroswords from its sheath and held it ready as he opened the door. It was a completely different setting on the other side. Across the hall from their position, another door was set into the wall, while the corridor extended off to the right. The lighting was dim and the walls and floors a drab grey in color. It was obvious they had now returned to an inhabited area.

They had found the Vulkar base.

Jaran leaned over to Mission and spoke in a low voice. "Remember, stay behind me, keep that blaster cocked, but _do not_ fire unless I tell you to."

Mission tightened her grip on the blaster, nodding in response to his directive. Jaran stepped forward to the door and quickly peered around the edge to the right. The hallway had several more doors set into either side and ended with a turn to the right. It was, however, completely devoid of any life. Each of the doors was completely identical and displayed no indication of what lay beyond. Loud raucous music emanated from behind one of the doors down the hallway, but Jaran could not tell which one without investigating more closely.

Jaran considered their options, knowing that choosing the wrong door could lead them to a confrontation which would not only slow them down, but could also be deadly. Since loud music likely meant Vulkar gang members, Jaran decided to stay away from the hallway around the corner as long as possible and try the first door across from their position.

Beyond this door, another hallway extended into the distance, again with a turn to the right at the very end. However, this hallway had no doors along its length. Motioning to Mission, Jaran began walking down the new hallway, until at the end he once again stopped and peered gingerly around the corner. This corridor appeared more promising, as it opened up into a large area at the end.

Jaran eased around the corner and cautiously began creeping down the corridor. To his right, Jaran could again hear the loud music he had heard earlier through a couple of doors set into the side of the hall. The large room at the end of the hallway alsoappeared completely deserted. It was stacked with crates and boxes haphazardly strewn around the edges and two more exits – one to their left and another on the opposite side. But what caught Jaran's eye was a computer terminal standing off to the right against one of the walls.

A quick investigation of the room confirmed the absence of any Vulkars. Jaran motioned Mission toward the computer terminal. Immediately, she hurried to the console and began to hack into the Vulkar system while Jaran stood guard.

"Were you able to get in?" Jaran asked after several moments.

"Just keep your shirt on," Mission responded absently, never taking her eyes off the screen.

At length, however, she looked up at him from the terminal and waved for him to join her.

"I've managed to slice into their system," she began, showing him the map of the Vulkar base. "This level seems to be mostly living quarters and recreation."

Mission gestured to the opposite end of the room. "That door is the exit from the base."

"And the accelerator?" Jaran queried.

"There's nothing in their system about the accelerator. But the next level down leads to their swoop garage."

"See? Look here," Mission continued, her voice rising in excitement. "Here is the main garage where they work on all their swoop bikes and over here is the loading bay they use to take their bikes out onto the Lower City streets."

She then shifted her gaze and pointed to the opposite section of the map. "Over here is the office of the garage head. And down here," she continued, pointing near the bottom of the map, "is the engine lab."

"Right," Jaran agreed, beginning to feel some of her excitement. "I would bet they have it in one of these three locations – the office, the engine lab, or the garage, waiting to be installed on one of their bikes."

Mission glanced up at Jaran, her face suddenly anxious. "What if they've already installed it? What will we do then?"

Jaran grimaced at the thought; it was a possibility he had not considered. "Then we'll have to… persuade one of the Vulkars to tell us how to remove it. Either that or sabotage the bike. Better to destroy it than to permit them to use it."

Mission swallowed nervously, but gamely nodded her head. "Don't worry, Mission, I don't think Gadon would have sent us out here if he thought it had already been installed. I doubt they've done anything with the accelerator just yet. Now, how to we get down there?"

Mission pored over the map again. "Here, let me have your datapad and I'll load the layout onto it. It looks like we need to go back the way we came."

As Jaran waited for Mission to complete her task, he became aware of footsteps approaching them from the entrance to their right. Motioning for Mission to remain at the console, Jaran quickly and silently moved to the edge of the passageway and waited for the intruder to pass his position.

As the man passed, Jaran jumped out behind him, covering his mouth with one hand and wrenching the man's right arm behind his back. Jaran slammed him up against the wall and snarled in his ear, "Any noise and I'll strangle you with your own lekku, got it?"

The Vulkar, a Twi'lek, nodded his head rapidly.

"Good, now first tell me, where is the Republic prisoner you captured?" Jaran continued, removing his hand from the unfortunate man's mouth.

"Yeah, right," he breathed, shaking his head. "You think Brejik would leave a trophy like that in here with this scum? He's got her stashed away somewhere safe, I'd guess – somewhere outside this base."

Jaran glanced over at Mission, who nodded her head. The man was only confirming what they had been told.

"All right then, let's try something else. The Vulkars stole a prototype swoop accelerator from the Beks. Where is it?"

The Twi'lek craned his head to look around at Jaran, obviously surprised. "You're here from the Beks to steal the accelerator back?"

"It's not stealing if it was the Bek's in the first place, now is it?" Jaran replied pleasantly. "Now tell me where it is!"

The Twi'lek nodded vigorously. "Sure, I'll tell you. It's not like I owe that scum lord Brejik anything. They brought it into the base and took to down to the engine lab to examine it and find out how it works. They're planning to install it tomorrow, but I heard there is a problem with it. I don't know any more than that, I swear."

"What did you mean about not owing Brejik anything?" Jaran asked curiously, easing up the pressure on the Vulkar's arm. "You're a Vulkar, aren't you?"

The Vulkar bowed his head momentarily. "I'm a Vulkar, but I was here long before Brejik took over. I was a Vulkar back when it meant something – back when we had honor. Then Brejik and his followers took over and turned our gang into a bunch of violent thugs and bloodthirsty punks. Now they treat all us original Vulkars like second class citizens."

"Take me, for example," he continued angrily. "I used to be one of the highest ranking Vulkars in the gang. Now I'm stuck on guard duty in the middle of the night, all thanks to Brejik!"

"If you hate Brejik so much, why don't you leave the gang?"

"I've been trying to work up the courage to leave, but it's not that easy. Brejik's followers will hunt down anyone who leaves the Vulkar gang. He says he won't let traitors live."

"Brejik and his followers are the real traitors!" the Twi'lek spat venomously. "They turned on Gadon and now they slaughter the Beks in the streets… and anyone else they happen to run across. Brejik knows anyone with character will never willingly follow a leader like him, so he uses brutality and violence to stay in power."

"Well, what should we do with you then?"

"Let me go; I won't cause any trouble for you. In fact, I hope you take Brejik and his Vulkars down. I just want to get out of here before it happens."

Jaran regarded the Twi'lek with some interest. The story was certainly plausible, given what he had heard of recent history between these two gangs. But, it was the Vulkar's demeanor and tone of voice which told him that what he had just heard was the literal truth. The Twi'lek appeared to be genuinely desperate to be gone from the Vulkar base.

Unfortunately, he simply could not afford to make a mistake… the stakes were just too high.

Abruptly shifting his hold on the Twi'lek's arm, Jaran changed to a submission hold and quickly rendered the Vulkar unconscious. "Mission, find me a small closet or storage room where I can dump this guy."

A few moments later, Mission found and directed Jaran to a small control room directly off the main room, where he left the Twi'lek, making certain the man would remain unconscious for several more hours.

When Jaran returned to the console, Mission handed him his datapad and motioned back the way they had come. "It's back near the rear entrance. I uploaded the base map to our datapads and disabled the gun turrets and their security system. We should be able to get down to the garage now."

Jaran accepted the datapad and led the way back down the hall past the strident music, in what they now knew to be the bar and kitchen area, and down the hallway they had traveled to get to the security terminal.

"Jaran, do think he was telling the truth?" Mission asked suddenly.

"It's hard to say, but I think he probably was."

"Then why didn't you let him go?"

"Because I couldn't be certain. Rescuing Bastila is far too important to make a gamble like that for the sake of one disillusioned gang member."

"Then wouldn't it have been better to get rid of him?"

Mission, for all of her abilities, which Jaran had to admit were startling, was still young and somewhat naive in many ways. Never having witnessed the horror of war, Jaran felt she was obviously unaware of and unprepared for the consequences of taking life. "Mission, you'll come to understand as you gain more experience, that 'getting rid of' people comes with certain consequences, be they physical or emotional. I have been trained to kill, and believe me, I am very good at it, but you should never become so comfortable with taking a living creature's life that it becomes the easy way of solving every problem; remember there is always a price to pay. Trust me, true wisdom is knowing when not to kill."

Mission considered this before speaking again. "But what do you think will happen to him?"

"It's hard to say. He may awaken before the accelerator is discovered missing and should be able to make a run for it. If not, he can still play his cards right and avoid casting any suspicion on himself. Then he can choose another time to make his escape from Brejik."

Mission said nothing further as they made there way toward the elevator. Jaran knew he had given her something to think about.

* * *

Carth shook his head again in disgust.

It was well past the middle of the night and the past hours he and Zaalbar had spent in the Upper City Cantina had been fruitless, not to mention frustrating. They had had a simple strategy – listen closely to the conversation, buy a few drinks and encourage some of the more talkative and disgruntled foreigners to complain about the blockade.

There had been many who were not happy with the Sith and many more who would have left immediately, given the opportunity. However, every time he encouraged the talk toward leaving Taris, he got the same answer – the Sith's automatic guns would destroy any ships trying to leave the planet. Only a suicidal ship's captain would try to get past those guns.

"Well, Zaalbar, I think I've had enough fun for one night," Carth observed cynically to his companion. "We should head back to the apartment and try again tomorrow."

Zaalbar roared his agreement and added his own thoughts of the situation.

Carth regarded his companion with some irritation. Shyriiwook had never been Carth's forte, having only a rudimentary understanding of it, which had been another source of frustration for the Republic pilot.

"Are you suggesting we check out the Lower City Cantina?"

Zaalbar nodded vigorously, adding a series of roars, which Carth was completely unable to make out.

"Well, I didn't catch much of that, but if you're saying we need to find someone more desperate and less savory to do this, I would have to agree."

Zaalbar again nodded. "Okay then Zaalbar, let's head back to the apartment for a while and then we can make our way down to the Lower City and check out the Cantina."

* * *

When the elevator door opened, Jaran and Mission stepped gingerly out into the Vulkar garage. The area was silent and still, and felt as abandoned as the rest of the complex had seemed. The garage was a vast, high-vaulted room, filled with the hum of equipment and machinery.

Jaran gazed out over the room and was satisfied when he saw the same layout as was recorded on his datapad. The center of the room was dominated by two high walls which had been raised parallel to each other. Along the inside edges of the walls were parked several of the Vulkars' swoop bikes, some of which hummed with the throaty rumble of their engines. Every available corner of the room was filled with odds and ends of equipment, tools and scraps of metal and mechanical engines, which Jaran could only guess were for the swoop bikes. In spite of all the clutter and chaos, the garage had a look of purpose and focus; the bikes held pre-eminence here and nothing would usurp their position.

As he investigated the bikes, two aliens appeared from behind the other wall, arguing animatedly in low voices. Jaran shrunk back around the wall, watching them closely for any sign they had seen him, but they merely continued their discussion, never even glancing in Jaran's direction until disappearing down the passage at the end of the hall.

Jaran glanced back at Mission. She was standing, gripping the handle of the blaster she still held, the whiteness of her knuckles a testament to her tenseness.

"Now, Mission, we need to get beyond that wall to the passage behind," he reassured her. "Keep it casual and loose. If anyone sees us from a distance they'll ignore us if we look like we belong. But remember – leave it to me if we run into anyone."

Mission nodded her head, her hands relaxing their grip slightly on the blaster.

Cautiously, Jaran stepped out and began crossing the distance between the two walls, sauntering in a relaxed pace which displayed his right to be there. Within moments they had crossed the empty space and stepped in behind the wall, with no outcry raised over their presence.

The corridor behind the wall declined for several meters, with an entrance to another hall on the right. Jaran never broke stride, continuing to the new hallway and entering it without pause.

This passageway ended in another perpendicular hallway; the engine lab lay to their left at the end of the hall. This time, Jaran stopped at the end of the hall and peered around the corner both ways, making certain there was no one in the narrow corridor before continuing to the left toward the engine lab.

When they reached the end of the hall, Mission darted forward and began to inspect the entrance. "Jaran, this is a security door, accessible only by key card."

"So? I thought you could slice any lock."

Mission directed a withering glance at Jaran. "I _can _slice it, but it will take time and in the meantime we're an easy target for anyone who comes around that corner."

Jaran glanced back down the corridor, which was still empty and silent. "What do you suggest?"

"The garage head will definitely have a card. We could head to the office and relieve him of it."

"There's no guarantee the garage head will be _in_ the office" Jaran pointed out. "We can't waste time looking for him either, since we don't even know who he is."

"I'm telling you, Jaran," Mission insisted stubbornly, "it may take me fifteen minutes or more to slice this lock. In the meantime, if anyone comes down that hall…"

Suddenly the door slid open, silencing Mission in midsentence, and two aliens stepped out. Jaran instantly sprang into action, swinging his vibrosword and cleaving the first Vulkar diagonally from shoulder to hip, felling him before he had a chance to cry out. Without a second glance at the fallen gang member, Jaran was on the other Vulkar, who cried out in alarm as he struggled to draw his own weapon. Jaran ran his vibrosword through the Vulkar's abdomen, silencing the alien in mid cry.

Jaran stepped past the fallen Vulkars and charged in through the open door. The room was long and dim, not to mention occupied by two more Vulkars, a male and a female, both Twi'leks. The man, a green Twi'lek, had drawn a vibrosword and started toward the door, but he came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Jaran bearing down on him.

"Looks like we have visitors," he said to his companion in his own language, "lackeys conned by Gadon Thek into trying to steal Brejik's swoop engine accelerator, I bet!"

"Brejik stole that from Gadon!" Mission interrupted furiously. "It was never yours to begin with!"

"Well, I didn't go to all the trouble of acquiring this prototype just so you could steal it back for that old fool!"

"Would you like me to dispose of these Bek spies, Kandon?" the female asked, sliding a vibrosword from its sheath on her back.

"No – hold on a second," Kandon responded, peering intently at the intruders. "I see you aren't wearing Hidden Bek colors, so I'm guessing you aren't part of that feeble old man's gang. You must be a freelance mercenary."

"You're right about that, I'm not one of the Beks."

"And what's your name, stranger?"

"My name's my own business," Jaran growled in response.

Kandon's eyes flashed in anger before he visibly fought his temper and responded evenly. "Instead of stealing the prototype for the Beks, why don't you come work for us? The Black Vulkars could use someone like you."

Jaran smiled in return, amused by the Vulkar trying to buy his loyalty. "You've got my attention," he returned, curious as to what the man would suggest. "What's your offer?"

"What?" Mission cried, aghast. "You can't betray Gadon! I won't let you!"

"Ah, Mission – the Hidden Bek's official mascot!" Kandon sneered, his voice cruel and hard. "Your loyalty is admirable, but misplaced. Gadon only kept you around so they could laugh at you and your furry friend."

"Yeah and what would you know about it?" Mission demanded.

"I know enough. I used to be a Bek, after all, and I well remember laughing at the blue child and her Wookiee sidekick. Gadon used to come up with the best one-liners…"

"No, that's not true! You're lying!" Mission shouted, incensed.

"Am I? How long have you known Gadon? How long have you worked for him? But they never offered to make you a Hidden Bek, did they?"

Mission stared at Kandon, her mouth working, but no sound coming out. "They… they said I was too young!" she finally managed to stammer.

"Enough!" Jaran thundered, angry at himself for allowing Mission to be brought into this. "You _are _too young, Mission.

Jaran turned back to Kandon and regarded him icily. "You told me you had an offer for me. You'd better get to it soon before I lose my temper!"

Kandon turned his contemptuous gaze back to Jaran. "You'd better watch your tone, stranger!" he said dangerously. "You obviously don't know who you're dealing with!"

"Just get to the offer!"

"Brejik has grown tired of this petty war with Gadon and his pathetic followers," Kandon responded after a moment's pause. "He needs someone to get rid of Gadon… permanently. If you do this task for him Brejik is willing to offer a very substantial reward. How does 500 credits sound?"

"Oh," he continued, "and we'll throw in that young Republic soldier we captured, too."

"I thought she was being offered up as the prize in the swoop race."

"That's true," Kandon confirmed. "We can't just give the girl to you. Not after Brejik's publicly offered her up as a prize in the big swoop race. But we can do the next best thing. Whoever wins the swoop race gets the girl. Kill Gadon and we'll give you 500 credits, sponsor you as a Vulkar rider and equip your swoop with the accelerator. You can't lose!"

Jaran thought momentarily, mostly for the Vulkar's benefit. In reality, he was not even remotely tempted to take the offer, but it was, nonetheless, exactly what he had been expecting from the gang scum. Jaran was a veteran of many battles and had killed more than his fair share of enemies, but what the Vulkar lieutenant was offering was nothing more than an assassination contract. The idea of killing someone in cold blood repulsed and offended Jaran.

"See Mission, this is what you missed out on by not becoming a member of the Beks," he commented to his companion. "All the petty rivalries, the hatred and betrayal. Don't believe a word he says about Gadon; among gang members, I have a feeling he's a good man. But don't regret for an instant not becoming one of them – you are too good for that kind of life and I suspect Gadon knew that when he wouldn't let you join."

Kandon shook his head in mock regret and sighed loudly. "I can see there's not much chance of convincing you to come work for us after all. Most unfortunate."

"There never was any chance," Jaran shot back. "I already have a ride in the swoop race and even if I didn't, I'd have to be even more stupid than you to miss the trap behind the bait. You never would have let me ride that swoop for you."

"Oh, we'd have let you ride the swoop," Kandon said, grinning evilly. "You just wouldn't have gotten the girl, win or lose. And if you're thinking of riding a swoop for the Beks with that accelerator, keep in mind that it's unstable and could explode during the race. I suspect your _allies_ never told you that."

"You're an idiot if you think I believe anything you say."

"Believe what you will. You'll never leave here with the accelerator anyway."

"Now can I kill them, Kandon?" the female asked anxiously.

"Yes, darling. Kill them both."

Jaran responded with a wide grin as he pulled his other vibrosword from its sheath and twirled them both through the air expertly. "Come then, Kandon, let's dance. I think you'll find I'm not that easy to kill."

Twirling his vibroswords in circles, Jaran advanced quickly to cut his opponents off before they could outflank him, taking position five meters inside the doorway beside a table, which stood against the right wall.

The Vulkars, seeing their chance to come at him from both sides melt away, rushed him together, trying to overwhelm him at once. Jaran parried both strikes and countered by hitting back at both Vulkars with hard swipes of his vibroswords. His attack took the female Twi'lek by surprise and she staggered back several paces.

Using this to his advantage, Jaran went on the offensive, driving Kandon back with several well placed swipes before batting the Vulkar's vibrosword away and putting him temporarily out of the fight with a hard kick to the chest.

By this time, the female had regained her balance and hurled herself at Jaran's back. Sensing her coming from behind, Jaran sidestepped neatly and parried her thrust, forcing her back toward the door.

He could see the sweat dancing on her forehead, her face a mask of concentration. But Jaran could also see the growing fear on her face as he forced her back. It was obvious which of them was the better swordsman.

Yet as he fought and forced the Vulkar back, he was aware of Kandon picking himself upoff the floor and throwing himself back into the melee. Just as Kandon ran up from behind, Jaran dropped to the floor and rolled to the side, while Kandon's stroke whistled through the air where Jaran had just stood and embedded itself deep into his companion's chest. The light faded from her eyes as she crumpled to the ground without a sound.

Kandon gazed at her body in disbelief, then threw his head back and screamed – a feral shriek filled with grief and rage.

Whirling on Jaran, Kandon stared at the smuggler, his eyes wide and deranged. "I'll kill you for this!" he rasped. "I'll cut out your entrails and feed you to the rancor while you are still alive!"

"Your rancor is dead, you idiot," Jaran mocked.

"You are a dead man!" Kandon shouted and he threw himself forward, attacking Jaran with great, wide sweeps of his vibrosword.

His rage was so great that he forgot all about any technique, leaving himself open to counter attacks, and it was only moments before Jaran swatted his vibrosword aside and plunged both of his own vibroswords deep into his opponent's chest.

"Not today, I think," he said grimly. Then placing his boot against Kandon, he pushed the dying man off his sword; the Twi'lek collapsed onto the floor and did not move again.

Jaran quickly cleaned his blades on the dead man's pants before sheathing one and looking around the room. In the far corner sat a piece of machinery. It was approximately half a meter in length, in the shape of a cylinder, narrowing at one end, with grooves running lengthwise along the outer edge. Confident they had found the accelerator, Jaran picked it up and stowed it in his pack, before running back to the exit, where Mission still waited tensely.

"Come on, Mission, we better get out of here. I'm surprised all that yelling didn't bring the entire base down on us."

Mission nervously grinned in response. "Nah, it's all good. They're asleep upstairs."

Their trip back through the Vulkar's base was uneventful, as the denizens of the base were still asleep and the corridors were empty. I was an easy thing to slip out the rear entrance to the base and make their way back through the Undercity to Gadon's Hidden Bek base.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I am not making any money from this and am doing it purely for my own enjoyment. I own nothing.**  
**

**Chapter 6 – Swoop Race**

Mission and Jaran spent the rest of the night making their way back to the Hidden Bek base in the Lower City. It was a long, yet slightly uneventful trip as Mission's experience and skill in the Undercity and her detailed knowledge of the Lower City led them through without any major confrontations.

Once back at the Bek base, they were welcomed with open arms and given a room to sleep, should they want to rest, while the accelerator was handed over to an excited team of mechanics for installation onto a swoop bike. Gadon Thek queried them extensively about their mission to the Vulkar base, focusing primarily on the path they had taken through the sewers. Jaran knew the Bek leader was mentally filing away the knowledge of a back way into the Vulkar base for future reference – and perhaps a weakness to be exploited, if necessary.

Jaran, however, was more interested in the accelerator and whether Kandon had told him the truth about its stability. When challenged, Gadon merely chuckled under his breath, "So they had it long enough for that, did they?"

Jaran was not impressed. "What was the point of sending me on a dangerous mission to retrieve a device that won't even work?"

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear, son. There _is_ a chance the accelerator will explode, but my mechanics who developed it assure me it is remote at best. We're more worried about how many heats it will hold up through than whether it is stable or not."

"Sounds like an uncertain proposition at best."

"It is a prototype, after all," Gadon admonished. "We haven't had time to perfect it as of yet, although we are working on it. But trust me, I've seen swoops tested with this accelerator. It will give you a real advantage in the race – besides, the way I see it, you don't have any other choice."

Jaran had no answer for that statement, as it was the literal truth.

After their conversation with Gadon, they decided to go out and try to find Carth and Zaalbar. Jaran knew the chance of their finding a ride off the planet was remote, but he was too keyed up for sleep.

They found the pair in the Cantina, minutes from the Bek base and it was immediately evident they had not had the best of luck. No one was remotely interested in trying to avoid the Sith fleet and guns and Carth had not dared to press the issue for fear of rousing suspicion.

"There was one freighter that attempted to run the blockade just after the Sith grounded all traffic," Carth stated, his voice low, as they gathered around a table to consider their options. "But it didn't even make it out of the atmosphere before being incinerated. No one has been foolish enough to make the attempt since."

Jaran shook his head. "There has to be some way of getting off this rock. We may eventually have to steal a ship and try ourselves."

"_That_ sounds like a brilliant plan," Carth groused. "If you're looking for a way to commit suicide, you couldn't come up with a quicker, more efficient way."

"Maybe so, Carth," Jaran returned, "but I'm convinced staying here would be tantamount to suicide as well."

For the rest of the day, they split up and searched again for a way off the planet, visiting every place they could think of which might hold some malcontent willing to try breaking the blockade. But their attempts were ultimately fruitless and they were forced to abandon the attempt that evening. They returned to the Bek base and ate a quick supper before lying down for the evening in the room the Beks had provided them, with the promise that they would be awakened in the morning for the race.

Jaran's dreams were plagued that night by dark, half-seen images of guns firing, worlds dying and a cold, mechanical laughter ringing over all.

* * *

True to his word, Gadon Thek's men woke them the following morning, and after a quick breakfast in the base's common mess hall, they were conducted back to the gang leader's desk.

After an exchange of greetings, Gadon got right down to business. "My mechanics installed the accelerator onto one of our swoop bikes last night."

"How did it go?"

Gadon shrugged. "As well as can be expected. We know the accelerator works, but what is unknown is how it will perform when pushed in an actual race."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Carth asked impatiently. "Let's go."

"Unfortunately, it's not that simple," Gadon returned. "Jaran will go with my racers, but you will have to wait with the rest of us."

"Alone?" Carth frowned. "I'm not certain I like that."

"Unfortunately, my hands are tied," Gadon responded evenly. "So many rival gangs attend these swoop races and there are so many petty rivalries and feuds, pitched battles have erupted in the past. I am only allowed to send certain number of people – three of my racers and my best mechanic. This is a tradition even Brejik would think twice before breaking."

Carth said nothing, merely stared back at the gang leader, a scowl fixed firmly on his face.

"Listen, I think we have come far enough in this partnership to have a little trust. You have done everything I asked of you and more and now it is time for you to trust me as I have trusted you. Jaran will go with my racers and they will treat him as if he were one of our own."

Carth raised his hands in defeat. "All right then, you _have _been trustworthy to this point and I suppose we have no choice in the matter."

Carth turned back to Jaran. "You go to the race; we'll keep looking for a way off this rock. Just be careful and watch your back."

Jaran nodded and turned to accompany the racers out of the base.

He definitely hoped they all knew what they were doing.

* * *

By the time they arrived at the swoop race track, Jaran's excitement had almost reached a fever pitch. The thrill of stepping into the unknown, racing in a swoop race which was not only dangerous, but might be considered foolhardy for one who had never even attempted such a thing before, was only heightened by the realization that he was now very close to reaching his goal.

As they entered the riders' staging area, Jaran stopped to survey the situation. The area was still somewhat bare of racers, as it was still early. Although no swoops were in evidence, Jaran knew they were close by, awaiting their racers.

Jaran's attention was immediately captured by a small cage, which had been set up at the far end of the hall by the registration desk. Although he could not see clearly from his present position, Jaran thought he detected movement in the cage. It seemed likely the woman he had spent so much time tracking down was the occupant.

Forcing himself to stay calm, he turned to his companions, who were now motioning for him to join them, and walked over to greet the Beks' Ithorian mechanic, who had preceded them to the track.

"Greetings, upworlder," the Ithorian said in his own language. "So you're the one who's going to ride the modified swoop bike? I trust you are ready."

Jaran smiled, careful not to show any nervousness. "As ready as I'll ever be."

The Ithorian nodded, his movements slow and deliberate. "I have been working on the accelerator and stability won't be a problem… I hope."

"No blowing up in my face, then?" Jaran responded glibly, attempting to lighten the mood.

The Ithorian disregarded his attempt at levity. "I should think not."

"So, is there anything special I need to know about operating a swoop?"

"It's pretty standard, but we'll go over the actual controls when we get to the bike. There is debris scattered all over the course, which you'll need to avoid. All swoops are equipped with dynamic deflector systems, so hitting something will shake you up a bit and slow you down, but it _shouldn't_ cause you to crash."

"Also, the track has accelerator panels built into it. If you fly over one of them, it'll give your swoop a boost of speed, so try and hit as many as possible."

Jaran digested this information thoughtfully. "I understand that this is a race against the clock. One swoop bike at a time?"

"That is correct."

"How many heats?"

"A maximum of four heats per rider. You are allowed to race your heats whenever you want, but keep in mind that the race will end at the sixth hour this evening, whether you have used all four or not. At that point, the rider with the fastest time of the day will be declared the winner."

"Remember, the accelerator is a prototype and I don't know how many heats you will get out of it. I'm certain we can get two, beyond that we may be pushing our luck."

Jaran smiled. "Then I had better make my runs count. So how do we get this thing started?"

"Just go over to the race announcer at the counter. He'll give you the time to beat and get you out on the course."

"Remember, Gadon's put his trust in you… we need to win this race or Brejik's Vulkars will get a whole bunch of new recruits and the Beks will be finished. Don't let us down."

"I'll do my best," Jaran promised.

The Ithorian seemed to consider this. "I'll be waiting for you here after the run so I can make any tweaks or repairs to your swoop."

"Good luck. And don't worry about the prototype overheating and exploding while you're out on the track. That 'probably' won't happen."

Jaran smiled faintly, and nodded to the other two Bek racers before making his way toward the announcer's desk. He needed to make certain the prisoner in the cage was indeed their missing Jedi before playing this dangerous game.

As he neared the cage, a large alien dressed in Vulkar colors eyed him suspiciously. "No one's allowed to talk to the prisoner," he growled as Jaran approached. "Brejik's orders. She wouldn't hear you anyway: she's got a neural disruptor collar on to keep her under control."

"Pay no attention to me;" Jaran replied reasonably, "I just want to get a look at what this 'prize' is like."

To his considerable amazement, the guard said nothing. He simply resumed his post and ignored Jaran completely. Taken by surprise, Jaran watched the alien warily for several moments before stepping around him to the front of the cage.

It was a small, round cage, no more than six feet high, approximately that much in diameter and looked as if it had been thrown together on very short notice. The rear was solid metal welded together in various places, while the front of the cage featured solid inch thick bars attached to a hinge at the top, allowing entrance to the interior.

Instantly livid at the thought of anyone being held in such a cramped, degrading cell, Jaran fought to control his emotions, knowing that anger would not serve him well in this situation. Gathering himself, Jaran peered into the cage at the captive waiting inside, and found himself staring into a pair of the deepest cobalt eyes he had ever seen.

Eyes he had seen before.

* * *

_The clash of lightsabers rings out over the deck of the ship. All around the bridge fierce battles rage, a group of Jedi locked in combat with masked Sith, Republic commandos and Sith guards, the fate of a galaxy hanging in the balance._

_The smell of death hangs heavy in the artificially controlled climate. _

_A face. The face of a woman – a young woman, still in her teens, her dark hair, cobalt blue eyes and fine, almost delicate, aristocratic features vividly clear. _

_She wields a lightsabre expertly, her motions precise, the weapon a blur of whirling light. _

_Across her blade, a dark robed figure, face hidden behind a black cloth scarf, brings his red lightsabre across her yellow blade. Lightsabres flash and the young Jedi parries an aggressive stroke expertly, responding with a series of well placed slashes which force her opponent back. _

_Pressing her attack, the young Jedi dodges an overhand stroke from her opponent, knocks the glowing red lightsabre aside and runs the Sith through all in one smooth motion._

_But the danger is not over, the fight not won; there at the end of the observation deck, cloaked, masked and indistinct in the gloom, stands a dark presence. Behind the young woman, several other Jedi move to flanking positions, their combined focus fixed on the motionless figure before them. _

_"You can't win, Revan," the woman warns the figure, her strong, confident words belying the slight trembling of her voice._

_The only response is the igniting hiss of a blood-red lightsabre and the hum as it moves through the air. The dark lord of the Sith swings his blade in an intricate pattern before assuming an offensive stance, weight on his back foot, lightsabre held in at the side of his masked face, pointing at the opposing Jedi. _

_As the young Jedi moves to engage, a disturbance, coupled with a flurry of lights emanating from a nearby dreadnought, pulls the combatants' attention to the port side of the ship. As the first salvo of heavy laser fire hits the unprotected ship broadside, Revan is thrown away from the windows, colliding heavily with the young Jedi. They collapse to the deck, with the Sith Lord on top of the Jedi, unconsciously shielding her from the deadly pieces of metal and electronics which erupt from the ruined bridge around them. _

_A momentary silence. _

_As the light begins to dim, the Jedi rolls the cloaked figure off her onto his back and rises unsteadily to her knees to gaze into the now mask-less face…_

Jaran shuddered and heaved in a deep breath. It was the same dream as he had seen while on the Endar Spire, only longer… more complete. And this one while he was _awake_!

He stood there momentarily staring at nothing, trying to fathom the implications.

_Bastila Shan! I've been dreaming about Bastila Shan and the death of Darth Revan! But why?_

And this time, he had seen past the original battle with the Sith and presumably on to her confrontation with the Sith Lord. It was common knowledge that Revan had been killed by Bastila during the raid on his ship, but Jaran's dream, if true, seemed to indicate that he had been killed by turbolaser fire from a nearby dreadnought. Why, Jaran could not tell; there were obviously many unanswered questions about the dream.

His mind whirled, attacking the situation from every angle, but no matter how hard he tried, the answers would not come.

Forcing his mind back to the present, he became aware once again of the startling blue eyes staring at him, framed by a face which was one of the most stunning he had ever seen. It was obviously the infamous Bastila, who was regarding him without any sign of the effects of the neural disruptor around her throat. On her face was a look of trepidation… almost fear.

_Why would a Jedi, especially Bastila Shan, be afraid of me?_

Gaining control over himself, Jaran looked around surreptitiously. There was no one close to the cage other than the guard, who continued to ignore him, and the entire staging area appeared as quiet as it had when he arrived.

Deciding to chance a communication with her, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "My name is Jaran Kalind. I'm here to rescue you."

The cobalt eyes widened and her expression changed to one of surprise. "Wait… I don't believe this! You don't… and yet…" She stopped and swallowed hard before continuing. "You're… you're one of the soldiers with the Republic fleet, aren't you? Yes, I'm sure of it."

Looking past him, she stared at the alien guard, who still ignored them, and swallowed hard. "How did you do that to the guard?" she blurted anxiously.

Following her gaze in confusion, Jaran shook his head. "Do what? I just told him that I wanted to have a look at you. I'm rather surprised he agreed so easily."

"Surprised he…" Bastila began and then shook her head slowly. "You don't realize…"

Jaran did not know what she was talking about. "I thought they had a neural disruptor on you."

Bastila's face transformed into a predatorial smile, and she seemed glad to change the subject. "Weak minded fools. A Jedi has many ways of dealing with restraints such as this. I managed to get it off this morning after we arrived, but I've had to wait for the proper time to make my escape. I left the collar draped around my neck for show."

"Don't try anything," Jaran cautioned, alarmed that she might try to fight her way out on her own. "If I can win this swoop bike race, you become my prize and we can get out of here."

Bastila's face darkened with a sudden anger. "If you think you can collect me as a prize…" she began angrily through clenched teeth.

"Of course not, but I have no choice but to go along with this charade," Jaran interrupted. "It's the only way I can get you out of here without bloodshed."

Once again, Bastila's face registered surprise at his statement. "Without bloodshed..? Then she shook her head and abruptly changed the subject once again. "How did you end up racing for these swoop gangs?"

"It's a long story, one which we don't have time to go into right now; I've taken too much of a chance just speaking to you as it is. Will you please stay put for now, and let me try and get us out of here?"

Bastila thought about it for a long moment before nodding her head in agreement. "Very well then, we'll do it your way. For now. It's not like I would be able to escape with all these people around anyway."

"Good," Jaran replied, "Just sit tight while I go register and find out what I need to do. With any luck we'll be out of here by this evening."

"Wait a moment!" Bastila called out softly as he started to walk away. "What you need to do? You _have_ done this before, right?"

Jaran flashed his most disarming smile. "Not exactly. But I'm a quick learner."

He winked and turned away from her, but not before her eyes changed from their familiar cobalt to an icy sky blue in obvious fury. As he walked away from her he could feel those glorious eyes impaling his back like twin daggers.

* * *

The Duros behind the announcer's desk regarded him momentarily. "You're here to race, right?" he asked in his own language.

At Jaran's affirmative nod, he continued. "Okay, let's see who your sponsor is… Ah, you're riding for the Hidden Beks I see. Always liked them… I hope they can show these Vulkars a thing or two. But I digress."

"What is going on here?" Jaran asked, confused at the lack of bustle in the area thus far. "I thought this was the biggest race of the season, but hardly anyone is here yet."

"All the big gangs like to make a special entrance," the Duros responded with some disgust. "In the early stages, minor gangs take the stage, set the time to beat, after which the larger gangs come in and try to beat the posted times. They usually do, too. I'm actually surprised to see the Beks here so early."

Jaran thought about this while he waited for the Duros to enter his information into the computer on the desk. Although he hated the idea of waiting while the tension mounted, it would not do to call undue attention to himself. He decided that it would be best to wait before taking his first run.

"Okay, you're registered now," the Duros said at length. "Do you want to run your first heat yet?"

Jaran shook his head. "No, I think I'll wait for a while."

"All right then, just come back and talk to me when you are ready to race."

* * *

As the Duros had predicted, the race was slow for the first several hours of the day, highlighted by a fatal crash early in the competition. One of the competitors was flying down the track and hit some debris, which launched him from the seat of his bike. This, of course, did nothing to boost Jaran's confidence for the task ahead.

Slowly, as the day progressed, however, the larger gangs began filtering into the area, with the Vulkar riders arriving last to an exaggerated and obviously contrived fanfare from some of the assembled riders. Jaran merely snorted, knowing that whatever the lay of the political landscape, the Vulkars and their strong-arm tactics were not as popular as they would like to believe. As the Vulkar they had spoken with in the base had said, they were far more intimidating than well-liked.

At length, however, Jaran became impatient with the waiting and decided it was time to get out on the track. Both of his Bek companions had left some time earlier and he knew the longer he waited, the worse it would be.

The announcer at the desk was as talkative as he had been earlier, telling Jaran some of his impressions of the race so far and admonishing him to take care not to end up the way of the unfortunate racer who had crashed.

"Has the time to beat changed in the last several minutes?" Jaran asked.

"No, Redros has still has the best time so far: 32.56 seconds. That's not a bad time, but hardly up to elite standards. Of course, most of the best riders use the earlier heats to feel each other and the track out. The winning time will likely be sub 30 seconds; likely closer to 28."

Not knowing any better, Jaran only nodded as if this was expected. "Who does Redros ride for?"

"The Vulkars," the Duros replied while distractedly watching his monitor. "Actually, Anglu of the Beks has just bested Redros's time. The new time to beat is 31.98 seconds."

Jaran digested this information thoughtfully. Knowing the longer he prolonged this the more nervous he would become, he indicated to the Duros that he would like to race one of his heats.

"Okay then, let's get you out on the track."

* * *

The controls of the swoop were much simpler than Jaran had expected and strangely familiar. For some reason, sitting on the seat of the swoop felt natural – almost comfortable. It was painted in the Beks' blue and silver and had a sleek, powerful look.

As he waited for his name to be announced, Jaran's thoughts wandered back to the young Jedi he was trying to rescue. It had been difficult to tell from the darkness of the cage, but Jaran guessed that Bastila was no more than five feet four inches tall, and probably a little over one hundred ten pounds; hardly the type to have the weight of the entire Republic on her slender shoulders. She had a slightly long, narrow face and a pale, smooth complexion, but had full cheeks which glowed with a healthy rosy bloom, her hair about shoulder length, a deep chestnut color. And there were the eyes – her glorious, slightly upturned, deep cobalt blue eyes. Jaran could imagine himself drowning in those eyes.

She was, in a word, beautiful, the kind of woman more likely to be seen on the holonet, modeling the latest fashions from Coruscant, than dressed in a Jedi's robes. Even her voice was striking – the strong, sensuous contralto he remembered from his dream, even more striking in person, complete with an aristocratic accent – just enough to give her a slightly exotic air.

Of course, he suspected she was arrogant and conceited, based on the brief conversation he had had with her. As a Jedi, a young Jedi at that, and given her reputed strength, it was to be expected that she would have picked up a certain… haughtiness to her personality. Jaran just hoped she would not be difficult to deal with once they actually escaped; he was not interested in butting heads with a strong-willed Jedi.

She still bothered him immensely. For some reason, visions of her, exploits from her past, had intruded into his very dreams – a disturbing development. After all, he had never even met Bastila before this morning. Jaran could not help but wonder what it meant.

Startled out of his ruminations by the announcement of his name, Jaran chided himself for allowing his concentration to be disrupted by idle thoughts. Adjusting himself more comfortably on the seat of his swoop bike, Jaran checked his instruments over a final time and waved to the starter, indicating that he was ready to proceed.

Jaran watched as the light flashed red, then yellow and when it finally turned green he released the brakes and let the swoop go. Not knowing fully what to expect, he accelerated smoothly, not wanting to put himself in a position where he pushed too hard, too early.

He had shifted into second gear by the time he reached the first accelerator pad and was caught completely off guard by the boost it gave the swoop bike as he crossed its surface, which very nearly caused him to lose his grip on the handles. The exhilaration he felt as the bike gained speed built up to euphoria and he actually found himself enjoying the sensation – ironic considering the trepidation he had felt going into the race.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Jaran gunned the throttle on the bike, exhilarating in the throaty roar as the swoop jumped forward in response. Aiming his bike in the direction of three accelerator pads which were set up in quick succession, Jaran hit each one in turn, causing the already speeding swoop to fly forward even faster. By now, Jaran had the bike in its highest gear and was flying down the track as fast as thought. The debris on the track turned out to be easier to avoid than he had imagined, more of a nuisance than a danger if one was truly careful.

He was almost disappointed when he crossed the finish line and had to fight to control his emotions as the bike was slowed by the field dampeners which lined the end of the track. When the swoop came to a stop, he stepped off and looked up at the large clock which stood at the edge of the track. He was truly amazed to see his clocking of 29.65 seconds: the fastest time of the day. It was by far the most exhilarating feeling he had ever experienced.

* * *

When he returned to the racers' staging area, Jaran was greeted with a cheer from the other riders, several of whom slapped him on the back or shook his hand as he made his way toward the Bek mechanic who stood at the far end. On his way by, he was able to catch a glimpse of Bastila as she surreptitiously regarded him, her expression unreadable.

"Amazing!" said the Ithorian, his head bobbing in excitement. "You have bested drivers who have been doing this for years. Are you certain you haven't done this before?"

Jaran assured the alien that he had not.

"Well, you've thrown down the gauntlet with that run. The top competitors will all be scrambling now to beat your time. You started off slowly enough, but you ran the last half of the track as well as any I've seen yet; a complete run like that and no one would beat it."

Sure enough, just as the Ithorian had predicted, the serious contenders followed Jaran's run one after the other, all attempting to break his time. Through it all, the Ithorian mechanic explained to Jaran the riders' affiliations, how good they were and his thoughts on how the race was shaping up. Several times the fastest time was lowered by the eager bikers. The last in the group to run was the Vulkar rider Redros, who once again put up a fastest time, this one 27.28 seconds, almost 2.5 seconds faster than Jaran's.

Once again the Ithorian fell into a more worried tone. "That is just about the fastest time I've seen on this track and will be tough to beat. You stay here and I will go have a look at your bike."

Jaran sat down on a bench and put his feet up, his previous celebrity almost forgotten by the other racers as a flurry of best times were set. He wasn't certain why, but riding the swoop had seemed easy, almost as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He frowned as he tried to remember the race, his recall fuzzy even though he had experienced it just a short time before. Although he was not certain, he almost felt as if he known exactly where the debris was located, had known which accelerator pads he would be able to reach and which exposed him to more danger than was worth the risk.

His ruminations were interrupted by an extremely rude alien. "Beat that, Bek scum," the Vulkar Redros taunted. "You may have gotten lucky in your first run, but I doubt you can best my time now."

Jaran grinned insolently up at him. "I _will_ beat it, I promise you," he boasted, ignoring his inner voice, which told him it would be best not to antagonize the alien.

Redros glared angrily. "I'll be laughing as they scrape you off the track."

"Don't count on it, Vulkar. I'm not impressed if that was the best you could do. This is a poor swoop race circuit if you're the best this sorry planet has to offer."

Seething in anger, Redros grabbed Jaran's shirt and hauled him to his feet, his other hand cocked into a fist and ready to strike. Jaran's temper snapped in an instant and he found himself pushing the alien away from him in anger, only to be momentarily surprised as Redros seemed to fly several feet away, to land in a heap on the floor.

"Don't try anything stupid," he growled angrily, dropping into a defensive stance. Redros picked himself up off the ground, completely infuriated now, and had to be restrained by two of his companions. As they hauled him away, the Vulkar continued to spew a steady stream of epithets in Jaran's direction.

Once certain they were no longer a threat, Jaran relaxed a little, still scanning the bikers waiting in the staging area, daring any others to challenge him. He needn't have worried. Although none were staring at him outright, he could see several furtive glances in his direction – glances which told him that whatever their feelings about him, he had gained a certain respect in their eyes.

In an instant, Jaran decided that he was tired of it all and wanted the whole thing to end. His swoop bike was likely not going to last more than one or two more heats at the most and he wanted the whole farce to be over so they could turn their attention toward leaving this galactic hole.

With this new resolve in mind, Jaran made his way toward the announcer's desk to register for another heat. As if by design, the way before him seemed to magically clear as he strode forward. He smiled grimly; yes, he certainly had made an impression.

At the announcer's desk, the alien regarded him with interest. "Redros has posted a very difficult time to beat. Are you certain you want to try to beat it?"

"Definitely," Jaran affirmed. "Just get me out onto the track."

"Very well," the Duros said with a shrug. "It's your hide."

* * *

No one seemed eager to challenge the time put up by the Vulkar racer, as there was no one in line ahead of him. Jaran found himself sitting on the track only a few moments later, waiting for the signal. He had decided that this time he would run a much more aggressive race from the beginning, realizing that the Vulkar's time would not be beaten any other way. He had considered the fact that such a strategy might be considered foolhardy for a first time rider, but at this point he was running out of options. If he was not able to win the race, things would turn bloody. Knowing this would only draw additional unwanted attention – potentially Sith attention – to himself and his companions, he was determined to avoid that eventuality at all costs.

The Bek mechanic had assured him that the accelerator had held up well in the first run and would make it through the next without any problems. After that, however, was anyone's guess.

Jaran sat patiently waiting for the starter and when the light flashed green, he immediately jammed the throttle, once again feeling the excitement as the swoop leapt forward in response. This time, as he had planned, Jaran pushed the swoop, coaxing it for every trace of power he could get.

As the swoop sped down the track, Jaran relaxed, letting his instincts take over. From side to side he sped, weaving and dodging among the debris scattered along the track's length. As he soared down the track, the experience took on an almost surreal quality. Time seemed to slow down and as he looked ahead, he could see the entire track in his mind and was able to plot the best course well in advance.

Once again, Jaran felt the excitement fade as he crossed the finish line, his energy spent on the race track. As the swoop slowed, Jaran could feel for the first time a shudder from the bike beneath him, could hear the slightly discordant rumble from its engines. Clearly the swoop had run its last race on this day; his time in this race would have to hold up.

Jaran knew he had posted a good time. It was still with a certain trepidation that he looked up at the clock, worried that his best had not been good enough.

What met his eyes stunned him. His time, 24.01 seconds, had sheared more than three seconds off the previous best time; dimly, he heard the announcer declare his time to be a track record. From what little Jaran had heard about swoop racing, he was certain that he had just posted a time worthy of a professional circuit. Stunned, he climbed off the swoop, to the congratulations of the exuberant Ithorian mechanic, who was waiting at the finish line. Jaran listened numbly as the Ithorian declared the bike to be through for the day.

* * *

Back at the staging area, Jaran was greeted in a much more subdued manner, the other riders eying him warily. There were a few handshakes and slaps on the back, but for the most part the riders avoided him, except for the surreptitious looks he received from almost everyone in the area. Even his companions among the Beks now regarded him almost as one would a rabid gizka.

It was all just as well, as Jaran was in no mood to talk. Making his way through the crowded room, Jaran once again claimed his spot on a bench by the wall and hunkered down to wait out the rest of the day.

At first, no one appeared eager to follow him out on the track. He overheard two riders say his time had bested the track record by over two seconds and no one else in the field on this day had come within three seconds of his time. Clearly, the daunting task of coming up with such a superior time had taken much of the fight out of his opponents.

However, as the day wore on and the end of the race approached, the racers once again found their courage and many began to challenge him once again. He needn't have worried, however, as one after another, times were posted which, while good, were certainly not up to the standard he had set. Even when the Vulkar's best racer, Redros, posted his own personal best of 26.91 seconds on his last run, it was still not close to the leading time. Although admittedly still nervous earlier in the day, Jaran began to relax as it became clear that his time would not be bested.

"Nice piece of racing," a voice said, startling Jaran out of his ruminations. He looked up to see a pretty, blue-skinned Twi'lek in Bek colors standing, regarding him. She was one of the racers he had arrived with that morning, but she had not said anything to him the entire day, no doubt wondering why an unknown was being inserted into the race over one of their own _and_ on the best swoop.

"Thank you," he replied modestly. "Most likely luck or some such thing."

The Twi'lek shook her head, amusement twinkling in her eyes. "I can attribute many things to just plain luck, but a time like that? I don't think so. That was the race of a professional."

Jaran shook his head. "I'm certainly no professional. I've never done it before in my life."

"I find that hard to believe. Where would you have gained such skills otherwise?"

I've ridden speeders before," Jaran answered with a shrug. "The principle's the same, after all. Go fast, don't run into anything."

She threw her head back with a peal of laughter. "I guess it is, at that."

"I'm Anglu," she said, sitting beside him, "And I wanted to thank you for your help here today."

Jaran waved her off. "You're welcome, although I _did_ have my own purpose for being here today."

"Yes… but I'm sure there were other ways you could have gotten what you wanted. And I don't think you realize exactly what you have done here today."

Jaran said nothing, unsure what she meant.

"We have been under so much pressure from the Vulkars. Brejik is a cold-hearted, brute of a man, but he _can_ be charismatic when he wants to be."

"He is a former Bek, as I understand."

"Yes, he is at that," Anglu agreed. "I never did like him. He always seemed a little too big for himself, too arrogant and had an altogether repulsive attitude about many things. He has been gathering recruits at a furious pace; recruiting the worst thugs, scum not worthy of being swoop members, most of whom he pulled in for muscle, nothing to do with riding swoops. Then he comes up with this scheme. Swoop gangs are nothing if not superstitious – if a Vulkar or one of the Vulkar supporters had managed to win this race, it would have been taken as a sign that Brejik was meant to unite the swoop gangs. The Beks would have been done; Brejik would finally have had the numbers to overwhelm us at his leisure."

"Then it is fortunate that our goals coincided in this matter," Jaran responded evenly.

Anglu looked back at Jaran, a smile growing on her face. "Fortunate indeed. Who is she anyway?" she continued, nodding in the direction of the Vulkar cage. "Is she someone… important to you?"

Jaran caught the subtle inference in her question and shook his head, wondering how much he should reveal. He felt he could trust her, was certain that his impression of honesty and trustworthiness in the Beks he had met was correct.

"She is not specifically important to me, but rather to all of the free people in the galaxy," he confided. "She is a Jedi and is almost single-handedly responsible for keeping Malak's fleet at bay."

"You don't mean she is…" Anglu trailed off stunned. Even a remote world such as Taris had heard of the famous Bastila Shan.

"Yes," Jaran responded quietly. "We were ambushed by a Sith fleet and ended up on Taris. Now you can see why it is imperative that I win this race and get off this planet."

Anglu regarded him with awe. "And you? I suppose you are some Jedi as well."

"Nothing so grandiose," Jaran responded with a laugh. "I'm nothing more than a simple soldier who has the dubious responsibility of rescuing the key to the Republic defenses."

"You are certainly more than a 'simple soldier,'" Anglu disagreed, rising to her feet. "But whatever the case, I wish you luck. All I know is that because of your actions today, the Beks will live to fight another day. Should you need our assistance, we will be here for you."

Jaran smiled at her as she turned to walk away, meaning to hold her to that promise if it came to that. He simply could not believe Brejik would give Bastila up without a fight.

* * *

At length, the race ended. Just before the close, several riders had tried furiously to best Jaran's time, but their efforts had ultimately been in vain.

As he stood with the other racers, awaiting the announcement of the results, Jaran looked around him suspiciously. There were certainly enough rival riders here for unpleasantness to erupt in very short order. On the far side of the announcer's desk away from Bastila's cage, a copper-skinned man stood glaring at him with a foul expression on his face. Certain that he could only be the infamous Brejik, Jaran smirked and flipped a cocky salute in response to the man's obvious hostility and was rewarded by an even darker scowl after which the man turned away and pretended to ignore him.

Becoming bored with the delay, Jaran glanced surreptitiously in Bastila's direction. She was still playing the part of captive, keeping her eyes to the floor and carefully trying to appear as if the neural disruptor was still affecting her. However, every now and them, Jaran could detect a flash of glittering cobalt as she maintained a careful watch on the assembled racers, clearly not trusting them.

Least of all Jaran himself, he sensed.

_Now, how would I know that? _he asked himself. He wasn't certain, but somehow he was sure she did not trust him any more than any of the other racers in the crowd.

Still uncertain, Jaran nevertheless focused on the announcer, who was now addressing the assembled racers.

"Racers of Taris," he began formally, "In the opening race of the swoop bike season, I give you the winner of the race, Jaran Kalind! Through your skill and courage you have proven yourself the premier swoop rider on Taris and brought great glory to the Hidden Bek gang! Not to mention obliterating the Taris track record, with a time of 24.01 seconds."

There was a loud applause from the gathered racers, as well as a smattering of boos and catcalls from the Vulkars and their supporters. Seeing the reaction of the other riders and the relative numbers of those who apparently sided with the Vulkars, Jaran could tell the Vulkars and their strong arm tactics were not as popular as their leader would like to believe. Jaran faced the assembly and gave a modest bow, not wanting to appear to be too arrogant.

As the announcer opened his mouth to speak again, he was interrupted by a now completely infuriated Brejik. "Assembled racers, heed me now."

"I have not given you the floor, Brejik," the announcer chided.

Brejik merely ignored him and continued. "The Vulkars honor the winners of our swoop races as we all do. Before I present the so-called champion of the Beks with their prize, there is something you must know – the winning rider cheated!"

"You're a damn liar, Brejik," Jaran responded menacingly.

"What you do not know," Brejik continued, ignoring Jaran's outburst, "Is that the Bek was using a prototype accelerator on his swoop bike, clearly an unfair advantage!"

"And what if there was a new accelerator on the swoop?" Jaran challenged. "Do the participants not all engineer their bikes, to try to come up with an advantage to help them in the race? I fail to see where such a modification can be considered unfair, especially considering the fact that you stole it from the Beks to use yourself. I had to retrieve it from your slime den myself!"

Undisguised hatred radiated from Brejik's enraged face. "What would you know about our rules, off-worlder? You are not even one of us and yet you have the audacity to instruct us on our own rules?"

Jaran looked around at the assembly, seeing the expressions on the faces of those around him. The opinions of Brejik's words were many and varied and although what Jaran had said was technically true, he could see that Brejik still held considerable influence due to his position and status as a life-time Tarisian swoop gang member. Jaran was, after all, still an outsider in their eyes.

"As a result of this… treachery by the Hidden Beks," Brejik continued with a self-satisfied smirk, "I'm withdrawing the Vulkar's portion of the victory prize."

"You can't do this, Brejik!" the announcer sputtered angrily. "You know the rules: nobody's allowed to withdraw a victory prize after the race. It goes against all of our most revered traditions!"

"You old fool! Your traditions are nothing to me – I am the wave of the future! If I want to withdraw the prize and sell this woman on the slave market myself, nobody can stop me!"

"I might have something to say about that, Brejik," a woman's voice rang out suddenly. Instantly, the door to Bastila's cage sprang open, clipping the guard's head as it passed. He went down in a heap, dropping his double-bladed vibrosword and Bastila stepped out of the cage, claiming the vibrosword and looking at Brejik, daring him to protest.

Jaran groaned, as he knew from Brejik's expression that they would have to fight their way out after all.

"What? Impossible!" he demanded incredulously. "You were restrained with a neural disruptor! How could you have possibly summoned the will to free yourself?"

"You underestimate the strength of a Jedi's mind, Brejik. You are a fool if you believe that you can hold a Jedi captive," Bastila scoffed in response. "Now give me back my lightsabre and I will forget about this little… incident."

Once again Jaran groaned at her declaration. If a fight had not been inevitable before, it certainly was now.

"Vulkars – to me!" Brejik screamed, all pretense at sanity now abaondoned. "Kill this woman! Kill the swoop rider! Kill them all!"

Now freed from all restraints, Jaran leapt into action, drawing his dual vibroblades and charging around the announcer's desk at Brejik. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw his Bek allies also spring into action as they moved to engage the Vulkars and their followers. Those not involved were now beating a swift retreat from the area.

Concentrating on Brejik, Jaran aimed a wicked slash at his head, which the gang leader just parried with his hastily drawn sword.

"You worthless, conceited pile of Hutt droppings!" Jaran snarled. "Your actions here could bring the Sith down on us and cause grave consequences for the entire galaxy."

Brejik merely smirked insolently, attacking Jaran vigorously. "After I've dealt with you, I'll have your little Jedi friend too," he sneered. "And after I've _had_ her, I'll sell her for a slave. Or, maybe I'll keep her as my pet. She is most… delectable, after all."

Jaran responded with flurry from both of his vibroblades, disgusted at the man's obvious lust. "You're a fool if you think that, Brejik. She's a Jedi, and is capable of doing things you can't even dream of."

Brejik grunted, as he barely managed to parry Jaran's strokes with his own vibroblade. For a few moments, Jaran assumed a defensive technique and used the fight to gauge his opponent's proficiency. Brejik's movements were competent and precise, but Jaran could also tell that he had a very regimented, predictable style and his movements were a little slow.

Switching abruptly to offense, Jaran began pressing Brejik back with a flurry of strokes, noticing the sudden look of consternation which crossed Brejik's face. In one smooth motion, he moved in, knocked the Vulkar leader's sword away and kicked him viciously in the stomach and as the gang leader doubled over in pain, Jaran swept his head off with a wicked backhand slash.

Turning around to survey the situation, Jaran could see that his allies had the battle well in hand, the remaining enemies either pressed by several foes or fleeing the area. As he turned, his eye caught Bastila. She was standing about thirty feet away from him, a dead Vulkar lying at her feet. Jaran looked down at the body at his feet and he saw a flash of light on the man's belt. He bent down to investigate and was surprised to see the glint of a lightsabre hilt attached at his hip.

Jaran liberated the lightsabre and turned toward Bastila. As he approached her, he could hear her muttering to herself, "Well, maybe those bloody Vulkars will think twice next time before trying to keep a Jedi prisoner!"

She turned and caught sight of him, paled and gathered herself. "I suppose you are to claim your 'prize' after all?" she sneered.

Jaran shook his head. "I thought we already discussed that, your Jedi-ness," he responded sarcastically. "Actually, I wanted to make certain you were all right. I wouldn't want to rescue you, only to have you injured by some Vulkar."

"_Rescue me_?" she countered. "Well, as far as rescues go this is a pretty poor example. In case you hadn't noticed, I managed to free myself from that neural restraint collar without your help."

Her voice was now full of haughty disdain. "In fact, it's more accurate to say that I saved you! Brejik and his Vulkars would have left you for dead if I hadn't stepped into that fight. You're lucky I was here to get you out of this mess!"

Jaran's eyes widened, astonished at what he was hearing. "I suppose all of our allies had nothing to do with it…" he spat, hand indicating the surviving gang members, who were busy picking over their fallen foes.

Bastila blanched slightly, but ignored his assertion and changed the subject. "In any case, we should get down to business – we're not out of danger yet. If I'm going to figure out a way for us to get off this planet, I need to know what kind of resources we can draw on. First, are we the only two survivors left from the Endar Spire?"

"We aren't the only survivors. Carth Onasi is alive as well."

"Carth Onasi is alive? Finally some good news! Carth is one of the Republic's best soldiers. He's proved himself a hero a dozen times over! And he sent you here to save me?"

She hesitated a moment, before continuing in a more conciliatory tone. "Maybe I… misjudged you. Carth wouldn't have sent you if he wasn't confident in your… abilities. Forgive me – despite my Jedi training, I still tend to act a bit rashly sometimes."

As she spoke, a tentative smile crossed her face, causing Jaran's thoughts to take a completely different turn. _Not the most diplomatic person, but force, is she beautiful!_

"Please, take me to Carth right away. Between the three of us, I'm sure we can figure out some way off this planet before the Sith realize we're here."

"Considering the energy and resources the Sith have spent looking for you, I'd say it's a little late for that," Jaran responded, still a little bemused at her abrupt change in demeanor. "But we do need to get out of here before the Sith arrive to investigate this little fracas."

Jaran looked over to Anglu, who had taken up position behind and a little to his right. When she nodded they were ready to go, Jaran turned back to Bastila with a mock bow. "Right this way, Princess," he said, unable to resist a small dig at her attitude.

Her face once again became a little frosty, but she nodded and preceded him from the area.

* * *

A/N: Yes I realize that I have changed a few things around in this chapter, but I have my reasons which I will be happy to share. Right now, however, it's late and I'm tired. If anything I have put in here does not make sense or requires an explanation, simply say so in a review and I will happily answer. 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I am not making any money from this and am doing it purely for my own enjoyment. I own nothing.**  
**

**Chapter 7 – An Unexpected Contact**

Jaran, Bastila and their Bek companions made their way out of the swoop track without incident, never seeing any sign of the Sith troopers Jaran was certain were on their way to investigate the fracas with the Vulkars. If the Sith were to discover the very Bastila Shan for whom they were so desperately searching was the prisoner Brejik had put up for the Vulkars' share of the prize, Jaran knew they would descend on the Lower City in force. Anglu assured him the swoop race was only displayed on a closed circuit holonet broadcast to which only certain groups had access. However, Jaran knew there was no certainty the Sith had not tapped into the signal.

At the Bek base, they were greeted by Zaerdra, who informed them Gadon had gone into seclusion to mourn the death of his one-time lieutenant and confidante, Brejik, yet leaving no doubt as to her own opinion concerning the fate of the 'traitorous slug'. She thanked him for his assistance on behalf of the Bek leader and added her own personal thanks, all the while sizing up Bastila out of the corners of her eyes.

Seeing the dismissal in her tone, he suspected he was not truly trusted, despite the result of the swoop race, Jaran agreed immediately that they should be on their way. The only request he made of them was a hooded cloak for Bastila; her features were quite distinctive even without the Sith tearing the planet apart to find her. He handed the proffered cloak to Bastila, which she donned without comment, and led the way out of the base toward the elevator to the Upper City.

Once they had left the base and gone a short way from the entrance, Bastila stopped and rounded on her companion.

"She knew my identity," she stated flatly.

"She and Gadon guessed it when we initially met them," Jaran responded, not entirely truthfully. He already knew, however, that learning of Carth's slip would simply set her off, so he kept silent about it.

Bastila shook her head in exasperation. "I would have thought you would be able to keep a secret, having served in the Republic Special Forces. How did you know those swoop gang scum wouldn't sell you out to the Sith?"

"Because they _hate_ the Sith!" Jaran protested, somewhat irritated at her manner. "I told you, they were able to figure it out from what we were forced to tell them in order to locate you. Please trust my judgment in this – there was never any chance of the Sith learning about you or us from the Beks."

Bastila regarded him momentarily before abruptly turning on her heel and stalking away. "I hope you are a little more circumspect in the future," she said acidly as he caught up to her. "I intend to get us off this planet. But I won't be able to do it if you are continually spouting off our identities to every small-time thug we come across."

Jaran stopped abruptly, staring in disbelief at her retreating back. _We risk everything to rescue her and this is the thanks?_

When she stopped to gaze back at him, Jaran immediately began walking, brushing past her and continuing on his way. "This way, _Princess_," he shot at her.

"And stop calling me Princess!" Bastila retorted, hurrying to catch up with him.

Jaran rounded on her so abruptly she almost ran into him. "Then I suggest you stop acting like one, _Princess!_" he snarled through clenched teeth. "Carth and I went through the Taris version of hell to find you and I don't appreciate your attitude about the manner in which it was accomplished. If you don't have any way of expressing your _gratitude_, then I strongly advise you to keep your opinions to yourself!"

A clinical portion of Jaran's mind registered her shock at his words, mixed with something deeper he could not identify, but at the moment he simply did not care for her petty reactions. He once again began walking, not bothering to see if she followed. The rest of the trip to the elevator was uneventful and completed in utter silence, Jaran fuming over Bastila's attitude, his companion seemingly silenced by his angry outburst.

At length they arrived at the elevator. In contrast to the last time he had been here, the guard at the elevator was much more attentive and suspicious. As he pored over their documents, Jaran had the distinct impression he was searching for any reason to object to their passage, as the questions he asked were detailed and accusatory. He alternately stared at Jaran and peered at Bastila's face, trying to penetrate the shadows of the hood she wore low over her face. Jaran had no doubt they were searching for something, but were not yet certain what had actually taken place at the swoop race track. A delay of even another hour or two could have prevented them from reaching the Upper City again.

At length, however, the guard shoved the papers back into Jaran's hands and instructed them tersely to get in the elevator. Jaran heaved a sigh of relief when they were safely in the elevator, certain they would have difficulty returning to the Lower City in the future, should they ever have a need to do so.

--------------------

They arrived at their makeshift base of operations to find Carth, Mission and Zaalbar waiting.

"You don't know how relieved I am to see you, Bastila," Carth said, once the introductions had been completed. "It didn't look good at all there for a while, but things are finally beginning to look up. Now we just need to figure out a way to get off this planet."

"You mean you don't have a plan to get off Taris yet?" she demanded. "What have you been doing all this time?"

"Trying to find you, remember?" Jaran shot back. "The planet is under quarantine, Bastila; it's more complex than simply asking nicely." He was sorry for his lack of patience the moment the words left his mouth.

"I see," she responded flatly. "Now that I'm back in charge of this mission, perhaps we can start doing things more properly. Hopefully our escape from Taris will go more smoothly than when you 'rescued' me."

"I know you're new at this, Bastila," Carth pointed out with some exasperation, "but a leader doesn't berate her troops just because things aren't going as planned. Don't let your ego get in the way of the real issues here."

Bastila stiffened noticeably. "That hardly strikes me as an appropriate way to address your commander, Carth. I am a member of the Jedi Order and this is my mission. Don't forget that! My Battle Meditation ability has helped the Republic many times in this war and it will serve us well here, I am sure."

"Your talents might win us a few battles, but that doesn't make you a good leader! A good leader would at least listen to the advice of those who have seen more combat than she ever will!"

"Both of you settle down!" Jaran interrupted. "This isn't helping. We should be working together, not quarrelling among ourselves like children!"

Bastila's icy glare turned on Jaran, but he forged ahead before she could speak. "And yes, I include myself in that remark. I haven't been the picture of congeniality since we met and I apologize for any offense I may have given you. Now is not the time to let our pride get in the way of what's truly important."

"The truth is, the Republic needs you and your abilities, Bastila, as much as it needs Carth and his skills. We _must _get off this planet before the Sith find us, or Malak has another one of his insane Sith Lord moments."

Bastila regarded him, making a visible effort to bring herself under control. Jaran followed her eyes as she looked at each of their companions in turn – Carth obviously struggling with his own emotions, Mission, whose eyes were as wide as saucers and Zaalbar, who was regarding them impassively, his Wookiee features almost impossible for a non-Wookiee to read.

Bastila swallowed hard as the implications of Jaran's words hit home. "Yes… you're right, of course, Jaran. I apologize, Carth. This has been a difficult time for me."

"For us all," Jaran echoed sternly, "but that's no excuse for any of us."

"I agree. Of course I'm happy to listen to your advice." Her words were almost forced out between her lips, short and curt as if she were flinging them in the pilot's face. "What do you suggest we do?"

"First off, we can't get hung up on who's in charge," Carth responded pointedly. "We all need to work together if we want to get off this rock. There must be a way; we just have to find it."

Bastila blanched, but her expression softened and she nodded her head. "Well said, Carth. And the sooner we start looking, the better; I've already been a prisoner of the Vulkars and I don't plan on being captured by the Sith."

"Not while I have something to say about it," Jaran said with deadly intent.

Bastila turned to regard him, her expression assuming a neutral expression.

"Well, at least we won't be starting from scratch in that regard," Carth said. "We have done some asking around in the local cantinas, the spaceport, you name it. We haven't found anything yet, but that doesn't mean there isn't a way."

"True," Bastila responded, her eyes never leaving Jaran's face. "In that case we had better get to it."

"Bastila, no offense, but _we_ had better get to it," Jaran interjected. "I'm sorry, but it is much too dangerous for you to assist in this search with the Sith combing the planet for you."

Bastila looked as though she wanted to object, but Carth immediately interrupted. "He's right Bastila, it's much too dangerous for you to be out there, with half the Sith fleet looking for you."

Jaran watched her as the muscles of her jaw flexed and her eyes flashed, and momentarily, he thought she might lash out again. However, this time Bastila won the struggle against her emotions and nodded her acquiescence. "All right, I will remain in the apartment and stay out of sight. But please let me know if there is anything I can do to assist."

Bastila stayed aloof from the ensuing conversation, adding only the occasional comment, as they debated the situation and what their plan of action should be. At length, they decided to split up in order to cover as much ground in their search as possible. Mission and Zaalbar would return to the Lower City, through means known only to them, and try the cantinas there, Carth would visit the spaceport, while Jaran would case out the nearby cantinas in the Upper City. They agreed to meet back at the apartment before midnight to discuss any developments.

Having decided on their next moves, Jaran's companions quickly made their exits, while he hung back, looking at Bastila, wondering if he dared ask her about his visions.

Bastila noticed him watching her. "Is… is something wrong?" she asked. "You seem as though something is troubling you."

His decision seemingly made for him, Jaran responded. "Something weird has been happening for the last several days."

"Weird?" she prompted.

"Well, I've been seeing dreams, although the last time would be technically termed a vision rather than a dream."

"Dreams? Visions? Of what?"

"Of you. And the strange part of it is, I saw the first two before I ever met you."

Bastila paled slightly at his statement, but her face gave nothing away. "What were your visions about?"

"Well, I saw the same thing all three times, although each time I saw a little more. You were fighting dark Jedi on the bridge of a ship. Then you came face to face with the dark lord – Revan I guess."

"This is all?"

"Yes. I just don't know what to make of it."

Bastila's gaze became unfocused for several moments while she appeared to mull over his words. At length, however, she glanced back at him, her eyes still puzzled. "This is… strange. Such visions are often… can sometimes be a sign of Force sensitivity."

"Are you saying I can use the Force?" he demanded incredulously, stunned at the implications.

"I… I'm not sure," she said, appearing to be uncomfortable with the subject. "It may be that you have some connection to the Force; it would not be unheard of. When we first met, your natural talent may have fed off my own Force abilities."

"But what about before we met?' Jaran challenged.

"It is possible that in the excitement of the battle, the Force allowed you to witness one of my more intense memories."

Jaran considered this, his mind whirling. He was a grown man and a seasoned soldier, not some callow youth. As he understood it, any ability he possessed with the Force should have manifested itself long before now. But he had lived his life without any hint of latent Force abilities and wrack his brain as he might, he could remember no instance of unexplained occurrence or happenstance which could be explained by his having a connection to the Force.

"So, this means I could be a Jedi?"

Bastila shook her head wearily. "The Force is complicated; even I with all my training cannot fully understand it yet. This is a matter best left to the wise Masters of the Jedi Council."

"But if I am Force sensitive, shouldn't I have had some inclination of it before now?"

"I'm sorry Jaran, but I have no answers for you. Once we escape Taris, we can seek the guidance of the Council, if you wish. They will understand the significance of your vision… if there is any."

She lifted a hand to forestall further discussion. "I think it would be best if we stayed focused on the task at hand right now," she said pointedly. "We can't afford any distractions; we need to find a way off Taris."

Knowing she was not about to be pushed any further, Jaran reluctantly acquiesced and began to turn away when he remembered something. "By the way, I found this on Brejik's body," he said, pulling her lightsabre from his belt and handing it to her. "I apologize for not giving it back earlier; with all that has happened, I had forgotten I still had it."

Bastila accepted the lightsabre from his hands almost reverently. "You have no idea how much of a relief it is to have this back in my hands," she breathed. "Thank you."

"Actually, I think I do," he responded with a smile. "I've served with Jedi since I joined the Republic Forces during the Mandalorian Wars, remember? I've seen more than one Jedi go all mushy over their lightsabre."

Bastila actually laughed at that. "I bet you have."

"Hey, will you be all right here by yourself?" he asked, still grinning.

She met his eyes again, still smiling tentatively, but genuine nonetheless. "Don't worry about me; I'm a Jedi, remember? I can take care of myself. Besides, if any Sith troopers come looking, I can 'persuade' them to forget about me rather than fighting them and drawing any others within shouting range down on me as well."

Jaran nodded his head in approval; having served with the Jedi in the past, he was well aware of the effect of the force on the 'weak-minded'.

"All right then, be careful."

"I will," she agreed. "But I think I should be saying that to you. You and our other companions are the ones taking all the risks here."

Jaran smiled and saluted casually before leaving the room.

--------------------

The following two days were difficult for the entire party. By day, and well into the night, the four who were able to move about undetected spent their time in every cantina, searched in every location they thought might house some malcontent pilot who may be willing to attempt running the blockade. They even made a fruitless attempt to contact certain Tarisian elements of the Exchange, the galaxy-wide organized crime syndicate, only to be rebuffed. Their efforts were in vain and a way off the planet remained beyond their reach.

In the interim, Jaran observed his Jedi companion and was able to form some basic conclusions about her character. She was in general, soft spoken and uncommunicative, generally keeping to herself as much as possible, when not discussing their progress. She almost never initiated conversation which had anything to do with any subject other than their predicament and plans to leave Taris. Indeed, the few times Jaran had conversed with her to any great length, he had been the one to initiate dialogue, or he had initiated it because he could tell she had something she wanted to say, but was not willing or able to begin the conversation herself.

She was clearly intelligent and well-spoken, her voice soft, her language cultured and precise. She was also possessed of a sharp and acerbic tongue and was not hesitant to use it when she felt someone was stepping out of line. She was also very protective of her associations and any slight against herself or the Jedi Order, real or perceived, would bring out her verbal arsenal in full force.

But he knew she was much more complicated than what could be seen on the surface. She was a staunch and unabashed supporter of the Jedi, but he could tell she was sometimes frustrated, or even resentful of some of the strictures placed on her by the Jedi order. She was a firm believer in the 'Jedi Code' as she called it and often reminded herself to 'remember the Code' when losing her temper. It was easy to tell that her attitude, at least in part, was a byproduct of her 'special talents'. She took an enormous amount of pride in being the only current master of the battle meditation technique. He knew she had been using it for the defense of the Republic for more than the last year of the war, meaning she had begun taking an active roll at the tender age of seventeen; extremely young for one to become the hope of the galaxy. In Jaran's mind, this was one of the major factors which contributed to her overall attitude, although there were undoubtedly other things such as her overall strength in the Force.

On one occasion, Jaran made the error of addressing her as a Jedi Knight, prompting her rather terse and unfriendly remark that she had not made knight yet and was still only a Padawan. This, however, revealed another facet of her character: from her tone of voice and attitude, it required no great insight to tell that she believed she _should_ already be a knight. Knowing some of the tenets of the Jedi, Jaran had asked why she had been sent out here without her master and had been informed, in an even more clipped and hostile tone, that her master had been killed during the assault on Revan's warship and that she had still not been assigned to a new master – her advisors aboard the Endar Spire had been deemed a sufficient surrogate for that lack. Jaran had wisely decided against pursuing the conversation.

Yet with all the information he was able to glean from observing her, the true Bastila Shan remained a closed book to him. He was certain there was more to her than this arrogant, spoiled child, but her own decision to ostracize herself from the rest of the party prevented him from getting to know the person he was certain existed under the façade.

Later that night, when they had returned from their first evening of searching, Jaran and Carth had gathered together with Bastila to discuss their activities. Mission and Zaalbar had returned earlier and were seated across the room talking together in low voices. Jaran sat back for the most part, watching and listening to the discussion between pilot and Jedi. It was largely a one-sided affair, however, as Bastila rarely gave more than monosyllabic answers and often seemed to be staring at something only she could see. He sensed that she was feeling regretful, perhaps even unhappy. It was obvious something other than the current situation was on the Jedi's mind.

"Bastila, something is bothering you," Jaran interrupted. "You may not want to talk about it, but I have often found that getting it out in the open is the best way to deal with it."

Bastila said nothing for some time, her eyes slightly unfocused. At length, however, she glanced at Jaran and sighed. "I guess I'm just not used to failure."

"I don't know that you can be blamed for our predicament; it seems a little beyond anyone's control."

Bastila shook her head. "I don't think I've made myself clear. This was the first time I had been in command of a mission; it hasn't turned out the way I expected, the way I imagined."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Carth admonished. "There was nothing you or anyone else could have done. To tell you the truth, I was surprised we were ordered to Taris in the first place. There is absolutely nothing of value here and the Sith have controlled this world for months; there was no strategic sense in our orders."

"There was a reason," Bastila said softly. "And before you ask any further, no, I am not at liberty to discuss the reason we were sent here. Suffice it to say, the Jedi council deemed it important enough to risk detection by the Sith."

Carth frowned, but being a lifelong soldier, he knew better than to press her. "Well, whatever reason they had for sending us here, somehow the Sith either knew we were coming, or detected us before we arrived. The trap was well laid and I doubt Revan himself would have been able to bring the Spire out safely."

Bastila tensed, no doubt uncomfortable with the reminder of her own link to the erstwhile Sith Lord. "I understand that, Carth, but it doesn't prevent me from replaying the battle in my head, wondering if there is anything I could have done to prevent our current quandary. Not to mention the lives of all those soldiers lost…"

"Carth is right, Bastila," Jaran spoke up. "Dwelling on it serves no useful purpose and more importantly, it prevents you from looking to the future."

"I understand," she acknowledged, with a slight smile. "I will try and focus on the task at hand."

With that, they all retired to sleep, but Jaran was awake for some time and he had the distinct impression Bastila did not sleep any more than he did.

That incident highlighted another facet of her character – the fact that although she presented a competence and maturity to those around her, she was still plagued by the same insecurities as any other person. And considering she had been entrusted with her first command at the tender age of nineteen, it was not surprising she had doubts.

--------------------

Two nights later, Jaran returned late to find the apartment empty, with the exception of his Jedi comrade. He good-naturedly apportioned out the food he had purchased on the way back to the apartment, knowing she would not have eaten since much earlier in the day. She turned her nose up at the bottles of Tarisian Ale he had brought back, but that did not offend him, as he was beginning to develop quite a taste for the strong, bitter ale and was willing to drink it all himself.

They sat in awkward silence, eating their food, until Jaran noticed her peering at him intently when she thought he was not looking.

"Do you like what you see?" he asked, deliberately teasing her. He was rewarded by an immediate blush.

"Seriously though, you look like you have something you would like to talk to me about."

Bastila smiled. "Yes, I would like to know what happened after you crashed on Taris," she confirmed. "I'm curious as to what you and Carth were doing before we all joined forces."

Jaran simply could not resist another small dig. "Before we rescued you, you mean."

Bastila's face once again assumed the look of frosty disapproval, which Jaran was already becoming very familiar with. "I managed to free myself, as I recall. In fact, if I hadn't been there Brejik and his thugs might have killed you in that fight. It's probably more accurate to say that _I_ rescued _you_."

Jaran snorted, diverted by her conceit. "Can't you just admit you were rescued?"

"I'll admit that it would have been much more difficult to free myself if not for the brawl after the swoop race," she conceded. "I guess I should thank you for that, at least."

By now, Jaran was far too amused by her refusal to give credit to anyone other than herself to take any offense to her words.

But before he could provoke her further on the subject, she interrupted him. "Actually, your presence at the swoop track is what I'm curious about."

At Jaran's motion she continued. "It couldn't have been an easy task to find me there. Yet somehow you managed. You also avoided detection by the Sith, discovered I was a Vulkar prisoner, gained sponsorship for the race and became the Taris swoop champion. That's quite a resume."

She was silent for several moments before continuing. "I won't deny you've impressed me with what you've done."

Jaran was bemused by the halting way in which she was expressing herself. Whatever she had been taught in the Jedi Academy, it was obvious she was not used to being part of a group like this. In some ways, such as the expression of feelings and dealing with others, she had the skills of a child.

"Keep in mind that I did have a lot of help: without Carth, Mission and Zaalbar, I doubt I would have come anywhere close to finding you in time."

Bastila waved her hand dismissively. "Your modesty is admirable. But though the others certainly helped, you were the catalyst for these events.

"When you were chosen to join this mission, I doubt any of us expected this much from you. A Jedi could have done such things, of course, but only by… drawing heavily on the Force."

"And you think I can use the force?"

"The Force is in all of us," she responded, with a shrug. "For most people, however, it is a barely measurable whisper. But there are some individuals outside the Jedi Order that we consider 'Force Sensitive'."

"That's a cryptic answer."

Bastila smiled. "But the Jedi are known for giving cryptic answers; you knew that, didn't you?"

Jaran threw his head back in laughter; she had a point.

"It is obvious to me that the Force has been working through you," she continued. "There is no other explanation for your great success, though I am not certain what to make of this discovery. Perhaps if you weren't… well, if you were younger, the Jedi might take you for training. But as it is…"

"I'm a little too old for training and I doubt my way of thinking would fit in with Jedi beliefs," Jaran dismissed. "What I don't understand is why now? I've always understood Force sensitivity generally showed up during childhood. And if I _am_ Force sensitive, why am I not already a Jedi?"

"I understand your frustration, but I've likely overstepped my authority. This is best left to the Jedi council to deal with. However, please remember that not all who can use the Force are either Jedi or Sith; the galaxy is a very large place and we would be presumptuous to assume all who are capable of becoming Jedi are discovered as children."

Jaran had to concede the point.

At that moment Carth walked into the room and interrupted the conversation. He tersely informed them of his lack of success, which immediately cast a damper on Jaran's conversation with Bastila. Soon after, she excused herself and retired to the small bed on the far end of the room, followed soon after by the two soldiers who stretched out on makeshift pallets on the floor.

--------------------

It was not until the next day when their breakthrough finally manifested. Rising early while their companions were yet asleep, Jaran and Carth decided to get a quick start on their search. They had not walked more than a hundred meters from the entrance to their apartment building before being approachedby a Twi'lek.

"You there – human. You are the rider who won the Great Swoop Race in the Lower City, yes?"

Jaran stopped abruptly, regarding the alien. He did not look as if he was affiliated with the Sith, but Jaran decided it was better to be cautious.

"You must have me confused with someone else."

'No, human, I don't think so," the Twi'lek challenged. "I saw the swoop race: you were there. You are the one I was sent to find. I have a message from Canderous Ordo. He says to meet him in the cantina." The alien turned and pointed in the direction of the nearby cantina.

Jaran was surprised to hear the name Ordo, but was careful to give nothing away. "Should I know him?"

"You don't know Canderous?" he asked, incredulously. "He's the Mandalorian that works for Davik Kang: you know – the Exchange boss on Taris?"

"A Mandalorian working for the Exchange," Carth scowled. "This just keeps getting better and better."

"What does he want?" Jaran queried, curious in spite of himself.

"Canderous didn't say why he wanted to meet you. He only said he had an offer you couldn't refuse. Given his connections, you can see why it would be foolish to ignore his request."

Knowing it was unlikely the Twi'lek would know any more, Jaran dismissed him. "Okay, I got the message. You can go now."

The Twi'lek's face darkened at Jaran's summary dismissal. "I would advise you not to put this meeting off for too long, human. Mandalorians are known for many things, but patience is not one of them."

"Yeah, and I'm not known for my patience either," Jaran rejoined. "I suggest you get out of here before you find out first hand."

The Twi'lek bristled at Jaran's tone, but being faced by two unfriendly humans with dark scowls on their faces, he turned abruptly and started walking away, grumbling under his breath.

"A Mandalorian!" Carth spat. "What could he want?"

Jaran understood Carth's feelings; part of him wanted nothing more than to ignore this meeting request from the Mandalorian and continue with their search. However, a coldly analytical part of his mind acknowledged that whatever Canderous wanted, making a contact with the Exchange, however personally distasteful it might be, could eventually lead them to a way off the planet. Jaran was not about to let personal feelings get in the way of their primary goal.

"I'm not certain," he replied, considering the possibilities. "But I don't think we can pass up this opportunity."

Carth was appalled. "You can't be thinking of actually going to meet this bastard!" he spat.

"Yes I am, Carth. Think about it: we haven't had any luck in finding a way off this planet and even less making contacts with the Exchange."

"But he's a _Mandalorian! _He can't be trusted!"

"I don't care if we can trust him," Jaran responded. "I only care about getting off this Force forsaken planet and if that means dealing with a Mandalorian, then so be it. We're running out of options here, Carth. We need to start taking some chances. And besides, he obviously knows something about us – we need to at least find out something about what he knows before we decide what to do."

Carth was shaking with anger, but brought himself under control. "What do you suggest then?"

"We'll go and meet him, listen to what he says and go from there. Look, I feel the same way, but I don't think we have any other choice."

"I don't like it, but I guess when you put it that way, we don't have any choice. We better get to it then."

Jaran eyed Carth cautiously. "Look Carth, no offense, but maybe you should go back to the apartment and let me handle this."

Carth shook his head vigorously. "Don't worry about me, I can control myself. I wouldn't let you go in there by yourself; you'll need someone to watch your back for this."

Jaran was still uneasy, but acceded to Carth's logic.

--------------------

The interior of the cantina was much as Jaran remembered, the same dim, smoky atmosphere, with the same music assaulting his ears. As he looked around the area, he saw the Pazaak players once again huddled around their tables. His eyes met those of an old friend, Niklos, who blanched at the sight of his erstwhile tormentor, but Jaran merely ignored him and walked into the bar.

They found Canderous seated at a table near the bar, the force of his unfriendly gaze keeping the tables around him free of other patrons even though the bar was rather busy. Jaran stopped and studied the man momentarily. He was tall and possessed of a heavy, powerful frame, with steel gray hair. He had the look of a fighting man, one to be respected and feared as a dangerous opponent.

Canderous spotted them as they worked their way to the table and nodded in approval as they sat down at his table.

"I understand you were looking for me," Jaran stated.

Canderous nodded. "I saw you in the swoop race. Very impressive. You seem like you know how to get results. Just the kind of person I'm looking for."

"My name's Canderous Ordo. I work for Davik Kang and the Exchange; the hours aren't great, but they promised me a fortune to work for them and I have nothing better to do. Mandalorian mercs like me are in high demand. But lately Davik hasn't been paying me what he promised. I don't like getting cheated, so I figure it's time for me to break the Sith quarantine and get off this backwater planet."

Jaran felt a rush of excitement at the Mandalorian's statement, but forced himself to remain calm. "How do you plan to do that?"

"I've got a plan to escape Taris, but I can't do it alone. I need someone I know can get the job done to help me. That's where you come in."

"Careful," Carth warned, "mercs like this haven't a lick of conscience… they'll betray you in a heartbeat. This could be a trap."

Canderous turned his unfriendly eyes on Carth. "I ain't talking to you, I'm talking to your friend, aren't I?"

Apparently not caring for a response, Canderous returned his attention to Jaran. "I saw you win that swoop race and I started thinking. Anyone crazy enough to race like that is probably crazy enough to break into the Sith military base."

"Why would I be stupid enough to do that?"

"You want to get off this planet, don't you? I need someone to steal the Sith launch codes from the base. Without those codes any ship leaving the atmosphere will be disintegrated by the Sith fleet's automated defense guns."

Jaran had to admit the Mandalorian had his attention. But he was also wary of a trap.

"Why don't you do it yourself?"

"I would, but everyone knows who I work for. If I broke into the Sith base, they'd send an army down on Davik's estate to get those codes back. That's why I need you."

Jaran studied Canderous in the dim light. The Mandalorian was so earnest; Jaran could almost feel the eagerness flowing off him in waves.

"So what's in this for me? So far it looks as if I'm the one taking all the risks here."

"Here's the deal: You bring me those launch codes and I can provide the vehicle to get off the planet – Davik's flagship, the Ebon Hawk!"

"And how are will you manage that?" Carth challenged.

"Uh-uh. Not yet. First, you bring me the launch codes. Then I'll tell you the rest of my plan."

"It seems as if you are asking me to go on faith here," Jaran responded. "What assurances do I have that this is not just some Exchange plot to get those codes?"

"None, really," Canderous responded with a shrug. "But I'm certain you both know something of Mandalorians. And you both would know this sort of elaborate deception is not the way my people work. Besides, I think you and I both know you can't stay hidden forever; I suspect the Sith would like to have a talk with both of you."

It was not a threat Jaran knew – Mandalorians were not very subtle when it came to issuing threats. But all the same, Canderous knew something about them and knew they were desperate enough to grab at anything.

Jaran exchanged a look with Carth, raising his eyebrow at the other in question.

"Much as I hate to say it, he's probably right," Carth grudgingly admitted. "We need a ship and he needs the codes and I doubt a Mandalorian would go out of his way to create a plan like this when he could just bash some heads."

Canderous flipped Carth a mocking salute. "Just as you say."

"Okay, suppose I go along with this, just how am I supposed to get inside the military base?"

"Well, I wouldn't recommend knocking on the front door," Canderous responded. "The main Sith base is in a separate section from the barracks and other than some muscle there for defense, it's mostly crewed by their technical and administrative staff. If you go in during the night, it should be manned only by a skeleton crew. Of course, it is protected by an encrypted security system, which would take a top of the line astromech droid to slice through it. But as long as you are careful and don't raise an alarm, you should be able to get in and out without bringing the entire Sith occupation force down on you."

"I assume you know where I can get an astromech droid?" Jaran challenged.

"You're sharp," Canderous said with approval. "Davik was having just such a droid custom built by Janice Nall. She's got a shop near the Sith base, builds top notch droids of all kinds. Just tell her Canderous sent you and she'll sell you the droid. Then you can used it to get the launch codes from the Sith base."

"Okay, Canderous – you've got a deal," Jaran decided. "We have three more companions who we will also be taking along when we leave."

Canderous's answering grin was feral. "The Ebon Hawk can handle the extra load, I'm sure. When are you planning to break into that base?"

"No sense wasting time," Jaran responded. "We will probably want to watch it tonight, figure out their shift changes and anything else we can about them. Probably tomorrow night, I would guess."

"Just as I thought," the Mandalorian nodded knowingly, "you've done this kind of thing before. I will be here the morning after next and I'll return for a few mornings after in case something happens. You come find me when you've got those launch codes and I'll make sure we both get off this rock."

Jaran nodded and rose, pulling Carth with him.

Once outside the cantina, Carth turned to Jaran. "Are you sure he can be trusted?"

"I'm not certain of anything," Jaran replied tersely.

"I hope we know what we're doing."

"I do know is this is the best lead we've come across and we're running out of options. For what it's worth, I think he's telling the truth."

"Bastila's not going to like this," Carth said.

"No, she's not," Jaran agreed.

--------------------

As the two soldiers suspected, Bastila was indeed not impressed with their contact and the plan to invade the Sith base, and informed them of that fact in loud, angry and sometimes shrill language.

Jaran and Carth, however, remained firm in their intention to follow through and pointedly informed her that arguments were pointless. Eventually, she was forced to concede and they began to make plans for the assault on the Sith base.

Jaran hoped they _all_ knew what they were doing.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. My proof reader has had this for ages and she just upgraded her computer. It got lost in the shuffle for a time.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I am not making any money from this and am doing it purely for my own enjoyment. I own nothing.

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**Chapter 8 – The Sith Base**

Jaran sighed as he shifted his weight to his other foot. The night wind had become chilly enough to be uncomfortable and standing in one place for so long had begun to make him long for the shabby, austere, yet protected comfort of their apartment base.

_Concentrate!_ Jaran told himself firmly, disgusted with himself for allowing his attention to wander. This was not the first time he had been caught in uncomfortable surroundings while on a mission nor would it be the last.

They were located in a small alley, which was distinguished by the simple fact of its proximity to the Sith base and its ability to afford them an unobstructed view of the main entrance and concealment from prying eyes. To his side, Carth sat on the ground, his back to the wall, his eyes closed in fatigue. The soldier had insisted on accompanying Jaran this night and had taken a regular turn in watching the base for any sign of activity.

Jaran had briefly considered going into tonight, but had ultimately rejected it, knowing the value of watching and studying the enemy for tendencies and routines. Not that tonight would afford him any more than a basic understanding; he would need several much more time, which he did not have, to gain any more than superficial insight into their operations. However, even the one night available was better than none at all. Attempting to penetrate the base with no knowledge whatsoever was not merely risky; it was practically suicidal.

The fact that he had even considered the possibility of going in without any information was a testament to his swelling sense of urgency, his growing conviction that they were running out of time. He could not explain it; he only knew danger was on the horizon and if they did not find a way to escape the planet soon, there would be no escape.

_Probably one of Bastila's so-called Force abilities,_ Jaran thought sourly.

A week ago he would have scoffed at the thought of such a thing. Now he was not so certain.

Not wanting to dwell on it, he turned to his companion. "Well Carth, what do you think?"

Carth opened his eyes with a start and looked around in momentary confusion. Seeing Jaran standing above him, he relaxed and shrugged. "It's almost impossible to tell without actually getting into the place. But based on what we've seen, the last guard change was about four hours ago, so I'd say the best time to go in would be about an hour past midnight."

Jaran nodded; Carth's words were merely a confirmation of his own conclusions.

"All right then, there is little point in staying here any longer. Let's get back to the apartment."

Carth peered up at Jaran through the gloom. "Go back to the apartment? Shouldn't we spend as much time as possible here, try and get as much information as we can?"

"What would a few hours more do?" Jaran asked. "We really need several nights, but we don't have that kind of time."

Carth stared incredulously up at Jaran. "Who knows what else we may learn? I don't know, but I think we're giving up on this a little too early."

"Carth, we could sit here all night and not learn anything more about what goes on in there. We could come back every night for the next week and we still wouldn't know enough. Another hour or two won't make any difference at all, so let's get back to the apartment and try to get some sleep."

Carth returned Jaran's gaze suspiciously, before muttering something under his breath and rising to follow Jaran's lead. As they made their way down the alley, Jaran watched his companion, noting the dissatisfied look and Carth's constant grumbling to himself, recalling the way their argument in the Undercity had ended without resolution. As they continued on, Jaran became further irritated at his companion's continued sullen, accusing silence. Eventually, he could stand it no longer.

Jaran grabbed Carth's shoulder, stopping his companion abruptly and forcing the soldier to face him.

"Carth, you and I need to talk about these issues you seem to have with me."

Startled by Jaran's sudden declaration, Carth peered at his companion. "Issues? What issues?"

"Well, let's start out with how you don't trust anyone. Perhaps it's that you don't trust _me_ particularly."

Carth sighed heavily. "I knew you wouldn't understand."

"What's to understand?" Jaran shot back. "Ever since we have been together, it's like I've been the focus of an inquisition."

Carth brought his hand up and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Look, I know I'm not being completely fair to you. You've got the skills of an elite commando and you've saved my butt more than once. Between that and your facility with languages, I'm lucky you're here."

"Sounds like a shady, treacherous character to me," Jaran rejoined, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Carth's look became cold. "No matter what you do or how you behave, I'm not going to stop watching you or being wary. I'm just not built that way. Period."

"Not built that way? Sounds like an excuse to me."

"Maybe so," Carth admitted, "but I've been betrayed before by people I… well, it won't happen again, that's all."

Jaran knew Carth had been about to elaborate, but at the moment he was too tired and irritated to care. "I'm starting to get pretty tired of this attitude of yours."

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't be the first," Carth snapped. He seemed to regret his angry words as his tone became more conciliatory. "Look… I don't expect you to be my friend. This is just the way I am, so don't take it personally."

"How should I take it then? I don't see you acting all suspicious around miss Jedi Princess or the others."

"That's because you haven't really seen me around them. Believe me, I don't trust Bastila anymore than I trust you. And you shouldn't either, if you're smart."

Jaran silently considered Carth's attitude, alien as it was to him. His time in the military had been spent largely with close, tight-knit groups who trusted and depended on each other for their lives. "Well, going through life assuming everyone you meet is an enemy is a pretty poor way to live."

"Look, why do you even care whether or not I trust you?" Carth suddenly burst out. "Why is it so damned important to you?"

"Because Carth, people trust, they open up, they throw their lot in with each other and ultimately whether or not they succeed is often based upon how well they trust one another."

Carth turned and began walking away again. "Well, I'm not about to change, so we had just better drop it," he called over his shoulder.

Jaran watched as Carth stalked off, amazed by what he had just heard from the pilot. He had met others who were difficult to get to know in the past, but to Carth, his distrust of others was almost a religion. Jaran shook his head and turned to follow the soldier.

The rest of the journey was completed in silence.

* * *

The next evening, all was in place for the raid into the Sith base. Since their return from the base, Carth and Jaran had not exchanged two words. To Jaran's eyes, Carth seemed determined to carry on with his 'me against the galaxy' attitude and had kept to himself in sullen silence. Jaran knew that Bastila had noticed the frosty silence between the two men, but she made no comment, other than to ask after their success in their night's endeavor. It was left to Jaran to inform her of their discoveries and the plan to invade the base. 

Earlier that morning, Mission had made a quick trip to the Hidden Bek base and had returned carrying one of the Sith uniforms Jaran and Carth had given to the Beks, with the express understanding that she would give it back once they had finished with it. Jaran did not know how she had accomplished this; she had merely said with an impish grin that there were other ways down into the lower city and that she and Zaalbar could return any time they wanted with little difficulty. Jaran had had his own task, the purchase of the astromech droid Canderous had advised them to purchase. With the little droid named T3-M4 in tow, Jaran returned to the apartment to plan the rest of the mission.

Jaran's overall plan was simple. He would pose as a Sith soldier and enter the base with the help of his droid companion. Jaran then hoped he would be able to bluff his way past any guards or administrative staff and upon finding the droid a free terminal, upload the codes and be out without anyone the wiser.

As he was preparing to leave, Bastila approached him, her expression determined. "Jaran, I think that I should accompany you tonight."

After Carth's petulant silence, two days of dealing with Bastila's frosty nature and the general tenseness of their situation, Jaran was not in the mood for a confrontation with the mercurial Jedi. "Bastila, we've been through this before," he stated, his tone impatient. "The Sith are looking for you in force and you are easily recognizable. It is much too dangerous for you to leave this apartment."

"I understand your concern. But you don't know what is inside that base. There may be Sith masters in there and you are not equipped to deal with them."

"I've done fine against them before."

"Jaran, you may have had success in the past," Bastila responded with exaggerated patience, "but you would be a fool to underestimate Force users."

"Yesterday you seemed to think I was strong enough in the Force to be taken in for training and now you don't trust me?"

"It's not a matter of trust," Bastila responded, her eyes narrowing in irritation. "Even if you do have potential, you have no training. You thrash around blindly, your use of the Force coming more from instinct than any real thought or purpose. You will not be able to survive indefinitely on that alone."

Jaran shook his head and donned his helmet. "The answer is no, Bastila. Every Sith on the planet is searching for you and I am trained for this, while you are not. You stay here with the others and let me handle this."

Ignoring her squeak of outrage, Jaran turned his back on the fuming Jedi, beckoned to the waiting droid and made his way from the apartment.

* * *

Jaran had much to consider as he and T3 made their way through the walkways of Taris's Upper City. Their situation was quite clearly wearing on the group, particularly the Jedi and the two soldiers. Mission and Zaalbar, he knew, were simply taking everything in stride. This situation was so far out of their range of experience that they remained unsurprised by anything they saw. They did sometimes look at their companions with puzzled expressions, and Jaran could see that they wondered how their friends, professionals as they were, could exhibit such irrational behavior. 

Jaran knew that part of the problem between Carth, Bastila and himself, besides Carth's trust issues, was the lack of a clearly defined command structure. He and Carth, being military men, were used to having senior officers tell them what to do and he was certain that Bastila's Jedi order was largely martial in nature, although certainly without the military's rigidly structured chain of command.

In their present situation, that command structure had largely been thrown out the window, due to the very nature of their situation and the fact that Jaran and Carth had been acting on their own for several days before actually locating their commander. This had forced them to work together to figure a way out of their predicament. Jaran had been in situations like this before in his days in the Special Forces, particularly in the war against the Mandalorians, but whereas those experiences had seemed natural, everyone working together to ensure their success, it was not that simple with Carth and Bastila. Bastila considered herself the commander of their mission, which technically she was, and viewed them as subordinates rather than partners. And Jaran had found himself taking more and more initiative and control, given his experience in covert operations. He knew this rankled Bastila, and to a certain extent Carth, but he also knew that as the one with the experience, he should be the one to lead their efforts to leave Taris. It was not an easy situation.

Jaran would be extremely happy to leave it behind him when he went back to the familiar comfort of his own unit once they had escaped.

At length, Jaran and T3-M4 arrived at their destination. At Jaran's motion, the droid approached the uplink panel and attached to it, while Jaran kept a careful watch on the area. As he had suspected, the Sith were complacent and had not even bothered to install security cameras, so confident were they in their domination of the planet.

When the outer door to the base slid open, T3-M4 rolled into the entrance. Jaran took one final look around the square and was surprised to see a dark, hooded figure striding toward his position. Swearing, Jaran shifted his position to face the intruder and reached behind his back for his vibrosword.

Abruptly, however, he noticed the slightly swaying gait of the intruder, the small stature, the dark cloak, and realized that this was no dark Jedi, but his own Jedi companion. Jaran relaxed his grip on the vibrosword, although his anger grew as Bastila approached.

"Bastila, what are you doing here?" he challenged as she walked up to him.

"I told you Jaran, it is foolhardy for you to go in by yourself," she responded, her voice cold and unfriendly.

"You know what's foolhardy?" Jaran rejoined, jabbing his finger at her for emphasis. "You entering this base, where anyone could identify you. Where will the Republic be then?"

Bastila took a breath and continued in a calm tone of voice. "Jaran, you are right about time becoming short. It is time for us to start taking a few chances, but that includes me as well. Besides, I feel it would be disastrous for you to go in there by yourself."

Jaran eyed her, keeping his face carefully expressionless. He had seen this kind of behavior from Jedi too many times to dismiss her out of hand. "Is this another one of those Force-inspired intuitions you keep talking about?"

It was Bastila's turn for silent contemplation. "Yes, I believe the Force is guiding me in this instance," she said after a moment's hesitation. "Besides, I am your commanding officer and I am giving you a direct order. I _am_ going into that base with you."

He did not like it, but Jaran was certain she was not about to be dissuaded. A small niggling feeling in the back of his mind also told him she may just be right.

"So, what's your plan then?"

Bastila released a sigh of relief, much to Jaran's surprise. It was clear she had not been certain he would agree with her and he began to wonder what would have happened if he had been adamant in his refusal. Jedi or not, although she had challenged his decisions at various times, to this point she had largely deferred to him when he had been adamant.

"You are a Sith soldier, I am a Sith master," Bastila said, outlining her plan. "We go in, bluff our way past any guards, find a terminal to plug into and download those codes. Then we get out of there so you can go meet with your Mandalorian."

Jaran considered her plan. "It's not the worst I've ever heard. How will we hide your accent? It _is_ pretty distinctive."

"My accent is common on several core worlds and should not be unusual enough to draw undue attention. If I have to, I can 'convince' anyone we meet that I am exactly what they expect me to be. I _would not _prefer not to do that, as any Force user in there may be able to sense me, but I can if I need to."

"Can you sense anyone inside from here?" Jaran asked, his pique now replaced by curiosity.

She shook her head. "Not at this point. But that doesn't mean they're not there."

"All right then, we'll do it your way," Jaran conceded. "We should be able to do this without any actual combat, but please, Bastila, be careful and leave any fighting to me unless you absolutely need to get involved. You are far too important in the effort against the Sith for me to risk something happening to you during a random, unimportant skirmish. I would count this entire mission a success even if you are the only one who escapes the planet."

Bastila's eyes widened slightly as she regarded Jaran. "I believe you are more important than you give yourself credit for, Jaran," she responded enigmatically. "Yes, I will be careful; as I told you before, I have no intention of being captured by the Sith."

Jaran peered at his companion momentarily, before turning back to the small droid who had been awaiting them. "All ready to go, T3?"

At the droid's affirmative warble, Jaran turned back to Bastila and motioned her forward. "Let's do this."

Bastila raised her hood back over her had, shrouding her face effectively from the prying eyes of any Sith personnel. She then assumed an arrogant pose and swept past the waiting soldier and into the base.

The entrance to the base was small, only fifteen meters in length, ending in another doorway, which led into the base's reception area. Behind a large, circular desk, sat a bored-looking Twi'lek female, who looked up as they entered the room.

"Who are you?" she inquired bluntly as they approached. "We weren't expecting any visitors tonight."

"Sith Master Rashaan has been sent from Lord Malak to inspect this base. We have heard reports of lax discipline, as well as holes in your security. We are here to bring this base up to Sith standards."

The Twi'lek's eyes suddenly narrowed and an apprehensive look appeared on her face. "An inspection in the middle of the night?" she managed in a voice thick with fear. "I'm sorry Master, but this is highly irregular; we should have had some indication of your visit."

Bastila turned to the unfortunate woman and regarded her coldly. "You were not told because this is a surprise inspection."

"Of course, Master," the receptionist responded, nearly falling over herself in her haste to bow to Bastila. "Shall I apprise the governor of your arrival?"

"It would not be a surprise if you told him we were here, now would it?" Her voice was low and measured, with just enough menace to complete the disguise.

The effect on the unfortunate Twi'lek was instantaneous as she bowed low several more times, anxious to please the supposed Sith master. "Of course, Master. Do you need anything from me?"

"The Master needs nothing further from you," Jaran interjected. "You may continue with your duties. We will be certain to include what we have seen here in our report to Lord Malak."

The Twi'lek was obviously confused as to whether that report would be positive, but she said nothing more, merely bowing again and returning to her computer console in a noticeable attempt to appear busy.

Jaran could not help smiling behind his mask; this was not the first time he had used that particular tactic against the Sith.

They continued past the receptionist and entered the long hallway. When the door behind them closed, Bastila turned back to Jaran with a tight grin. "So how was that?" she asked.

"Not bad," Jaran responded, returning her smile. "A little more practice and we'll turn you into Special Forces material yet."

"So where to now?"

"I don't know. Pick a room and inspect it. We'll have T3 connect to a terminal while they're distracted, download the codes and be out of here without anyone the wiser."

Bastila nodded and T3 warbled his agreement to Jaran's plan. They continued down the hallway until Bastila selected a door to their right at random, which Jaran opened. They had chosen a small control room, staffed by several Sith technicians, dressed in their dull grey uniforms, who looked up curiously at the new arrivals.

"Sith Master Rashaan will now be conducting an inspection of the facility," Jaran commanded in a crisp, authoritative voice.

One of the technicians, a short, weathered man with thick, droopy mustaches approached them, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "We weren't told of an inspection."

Bastila raised her hand and the man immediately flew backward to collide with one of the large machines lining the room. "Does anyone else wish to voice their opinion?"

Her words prompted an immediate response, as the technicians immediately snapped to attention. Even the unfortunate man she had hit with the Force rose to his feet with some difficulty and straightened up as far as he could. His slightly wobbly legs and fear-filled eyes were clearly recognizable.

Jaran had to check himself firmly to keep from shaking his head at the instant looks of trepidation, which appeared on the faces of everyone in the room. How people could put up with such tyranny on a daily basis was beyond his understanding.

The technicians stood at attention while Bastila made a show if inspecting them, while T3 connected to a terminal outlet and began searching through the Sith network for the access codes. Jaran stood to the side and watched Bastila. Once again, he could not help feeling surprise and admiration for the way she handled herself. She played the part of a strict taskmistress to perfection, finding fault with everything from a speck of dust on a uniform, to the state of some of the terminals. Once T3 had finished his investigation into the network, she even used that opportunity to berate the technicians about the state of their network security, instructing them to fix their 'security holes' with all haste or face the wrath of Lord Malak. More than one face paled at the mention of their leader's displeasure.

Having thoroughly intimidated the Sith with her manner, Bastila declared the inspection to be at an end. Fixing her steely gaze on the lead technician, she instructed him to oversee the improvements she had commanded, with the insinuation that he would be held responsible for any further examples of lax discipline. She then glided from the room with an arrogant saunter, followed closely by Jaran and the droid.

Outside in the corridor, she turned and looked back at Jaran with a raised eyebrow.

"That was perfect, Bastila. I didn't know you were so versatile."

"Neither did I," she replied with a small grin.

"Where did you learn to do the troop inspection so well?"

"I just copied what I've seen from Master Vrook."

"A Jedi Master, I presume?"

"Yes. A notoriously hard-to-please taskmaster," Bastila responded with some distaste, "and universally hated by the padawans. His weapons classes were often like this, standing at attention while he inspected our robes, lightsabres and anything else, which caught his fancy."

Jaran was bemused by his small glimpse into the Jedi order. None of the Jedi of his acquaintance had been this descriptive about their experiences.

T3 interrupted their conversation with an impatient whistle, causing Jaran to blanch at his message.

At Bastila's puzzled look, Jaran said, "T3 wasn't able to get the codes from the main computer. Apparently they are restricted to governor's access only and are not even in the main system."

Bastila regarded him curiously. "I knew from your service records you are fluent in many languages, but I didn't know you understood astromech droids."

"I've had many occasions in the past where understanding a droid has come in handy," Jaran responded with a shrug. "I don't have a perfect understanding of what he says, but I can get the general gist."

"So what do we do now?"

"We'll have to pay a visit to this governor and get the codes from him; the only place we will find them is on his person."

Bastila stared back at him. "Now we are starting to get into dangerous territory, Jaran. Not only are you talking about intruding into the center of the base, but this governor is almost certainly a Force user. And what is to prevent them from changing the codes once they find out we have stolen them?"

"I agree, Bastila, but if you have any other ideas, I'm open to hearing them."

Bastila regarded him for several moments. "I wish I had one," she admitted ruefully.

"Then we have no choice," Jaran stated. "T3 was able to get the layout for the base, so he should be able to lead us straight to the governor."

"All right then, lead on."

T3 rolled away in the direction of the governor's office, with Bastila following and Jaran bringing up the rear. As they walked, Jaran considered his Jedi companion. Bastila was clearly more than he had bargained for. He knew she was intelligent and competent, but she had shown him she could be resourceful, with a flair for the dramatic. He was uncertain about her; at times she acted as if they were old comrades, while at others she seemed to regard him with more suspicion than Carth ever had.

Still, he supposed it was unlikely he would ever have the chance to actually get to know her. Once they had escaped from the planet, Bastila would undoubtedly return to the Jedi, while he and Carth would be reassigned to new positions in the Republic fleet. A part of him regretted not having the chance to get to know her better.

With the base's layout stored away in the little droid's memory, they were able to make their way through the base, up the elevator and to the office quickly and without mishap. Any personnel they encountered were easily intimidated by the sight and manner of the supposed Sith master and her soldier escort.

The governor's office itself was small, with little furnishings besides a desk and chair, and nothing which would have given any information about its occupant. They stepped in to find the governor, a tall, slim man with a goatee. He was dressed in black armor and had a shaved head, which Jaran knew to be in vogue in the Sith ranks due to their leader's own lack of hair.

The governor looked up at them and rose, his eyes darting rapidly, suspiciously from one intruder to the other, his face an angry mask. "Who dares to break my mediation? You will pay for interrupting my… wait. I sense the Force is strong with you. Very strong. Who are you?"

"Who we are doesn't matter," Jaran responded, raising his blaster to point at the chest of the Sith. "We're here for those launch codes."

A predatory grin appeared on the Sith's face. "You really think you can steal the codes and then get out of here alive?" he sneered.

"We got in, didn't we?"

The Sith did not reply, his attention suddenly turned to Bastila. "And your companion is another Force-Adept. Who would have thought one Force-Adept could be found on this insignificant planet, much less two? And yet there is something familiar…"

Abruptly he threw his head back and laughed. "Well, well, I do believe I am in the august presence of the infamous Bastila Shan. This meeting is a stroke of luck for me – my master will surely reward me with my lightsabre for turning you over to him!"

Jaran snorted in derision. "A Sith without a lightsabre? You must not be very much of a Force user if you don't even have a lightsabre."

The Sith's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly and he suddenly thrust his hand forward, throwing Jaran back against the wall, where the back of his head impacted heavily with the concrete wall. The only thing which saved him was the Sith helmet he still wore. Even so, he still blacked out, only dimly aware of the sound of Bastila's lightsabre activating as she moved to engage the governor.

Jaran came to almost immediately and struggled to his feet. The Sith had produced a double-bladed vibrosword and was attacking Bastila, who fought back with her lightsabre. Jaran could immediately tell that for all the man's bluster, he was clearly not her equal in a duel. The fight was over in seconds, with Bastila's lightsabre buried in the Sith's chest.

As the man fell to the ground, Bastila looked back at Jaran with concern on her features, seeming only slightly relieved that he was already on his feet.

"Baiting a Sith is not the smartest thing you have ever done," she chided him.

"No, it wasn't," Jaran agreed, rubbing the back of his head. "I'll keep that in mind next time."

Her expression quickly changed to one of triumph. "See, I told you it was stupid for you to come in here alone. If I hadn't insisted on coming along, you would have been captured by the Sith."

Jaran merely grumbled back at her and began intently searching for the governor's datapad for the codes. He found them in a drawer in the man's desk, scanned briefly for the information he required and then turned back to Bastila.

"Here they are. Now we just need to come up with a way to keep them from discovering the body and changing the codes before we can get off the planet."

"Don't worry, I have an idea of what to do about that," Bastila said, her voice having acquired a smug superiority, which immediately grated on Jaran's nerves.

The journey back through the base was as uneventful as their journey in had been. At the reception desk, Bastila stopped and regarded the receptionist. "The governor is in his office, meditating over the disgraceful state of this facility," she stated imperiously. "His master will be coming in from the fleet this evening to deal with his apprentice's failure. See that he is not disturbed until then."

The Twi'lek assured them in a frightened voice that she would ensure he remained undisturbed for the remainder of the day, heaving a perceptible sigh of relief as Jaran and Bastila left the base.

"Brilliant!" Jaran complimented as they stepped outside.

Bastila smiled. "Sometimes it can be useful to use their own cruelty against them. We never would have gotten away with this in a Republic base."

"Republic soldiers know they won't be summarily executed on a whim."

Bastila regarded Jaran with an unreadable expression, before motioning him back in the direction of their hideout.

* * *

At the apartment, they were greeted by three sets of worried eyes, which immediately brightened up at learning they had retrieved the codes. They discussed the next stage of their plans for some time before they all lay down to try to salvage what was left of the night's sleep. 

For the first time since they had arrived, Jaran felt escape was almost within their grasp.

* * *

A/N: One more chapter and Taris is finished! I always considered Taris to be an extremely boring part of the game; I'll be happy to get past it and on to some more interesting material. Hopefully, writing about more interesting things will speed up the process a little too. 

As always, thanks for the reviews and encouragement.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer - Nope, I don't own any of this. For my own enjoyment only.

* * *

**Chapter 9 – Escape from Taris**

The following morning, Jaran entered the cantina once again, eyes questing, searching for any hint of being watched. After their infiltration of the Sith base of the previous night, he was not taking any chances, although there had been no alarm raised – nothing to indicate their subterfuge had been detected. Jaran knew better than to let his guard down at this point, especially with the companion standing at his side.

The thought of the headstrong Jedi brought a scowl to his face; his eyes flickered involuntarily to Bastila, her face partially hidden within the hood she still wore. The Jedi was surveying the room, her hard, glittering eyes sweeping across the Pazaak players and drinkers, lip curled in distaste. After her success in persuading him to include her in the previous night's operation, Bastila appeared to have once again found her confidence and air of command – nothing Jaran or Carth said could dissuade her from accompanying Jaran on his meeting with the Mandalorian. With his Sith uniform disguise, Jaran was certain no one would recognize him, even if the governor's body had been found. His companion was another matter entirely – and the fact that no one _appeared_ to be paying any attention to them now did not comfort him at all.

Before they could begin to move into the cantina, Jaran stopped and stepped in front of the Jedi. "Remember, Bastila, we have to tread carefully. I _think_ Canderous is trustworthy, but until he proves it we must be cautious. Please let me do the talking as much as possible."

Bastila glared at Jaran. "I understand the situation and the stakes, Jaran. Let's just get this farce over with so we can get off this planet."

Jaran glowered at her again, but she only regarded him silently, her eyes challenging him to make any further comment.

Knowing better than to force a confrontation with her, Jaran turned and made his way into the cantina, finding their Mandalorian contact occupying the same table he had during their previous meeting.

As they eased into their seats, Jaran noticed Canderous's eyes following Bastila, watching her, peering into her hood. He seemed to be considering her, but something in his manner, his expression as he watched her, told Jaran that Canderous knew more about them than he was letting on – making Jaran feel uncomfortable. However, knowing they had no choice at this point but to trust their contact, he swallowed hard and glanced around the room, alert for any treachery.

Bastila, for her part, gazed back at the Mandalorian with some aversion. "So this is your Mandalorian."

"In the flesh," Jaran replied, looking back at Canderous. Nothing seemed out of place, nothing suspicious caught his attention and he relaxed slightly.

Eventually the Mandalorian looked back at Jaran and broke into a feral smile. "So, I see you brought your swoop race winnings with you this time. That punk Brejik nearly pulled a fast one with you, and would likely have pulled it off without your friend here."

Bastila directed a withering look at Canderous. "I'm well aware of what happened, thank you."

Canderous turned his attention back to Jaran, Bastila suddenly ignored. "So you're back and yet I haven't heard about anyone breaking into the military base. You aren't back to beg for my help now, are you?"

"Who says you hear about everything that happens?" Jaran replied with a smirk.

"You _do_ have the codes?" Canderous asked, with an eyebrow raised in skepticism. "The news should have been all over the planet by now."

"The news isn't general knowledge because the Sith themselves don't know they had a break in."

Their contact was silent as he digested this new piece of information. "That's a neat trick. How did you manage that?"

"Sometimes using a little stealth and guile is better than going in with blasters firing." Jaran replied, shrugging his shoulders. "We may have been able to walk out with the codes, but they would have been changed the moment we left."

Canderous stroked his chin thoughtfully. "My informant told me the governor was the only one who was able to change those codes. Take him out and the Sith need to slice into his files to change them – by the time they managed it, we would be long gone."

"Maybe so, but why rush into a blaster fight and risk getting killed when you can go in quietly and accomplish the same thing? Not to mention the fact that the Sith would come down on this planet even harder knowing their codes had been compromised."

"I like the way you think," Canderous responded, with a short nod. "This way we should have some time before the Sith start locking down the planet. How long do we have before they discover your little subterfuge?"

"It's difficult to say," Jaran shrugged, "could be hours or only minutes. We _should_ have several hours though."

"Good. In that case, we had better get moving."

"How are you going to get me inside Davik's base?"

"Davik's always looking to recruit new talent. I'll tell him how you won that swoop race and mention that you're interested in working for the Exchange. I'll say I brought you in so he could check you out. He'll have you stay at his estate for a couple days while he runs some background checks on you – that's standard procedure."

"And while Davik is checking me out, we steal a ship," Jaran finished.

Canderous nodded his head in approval. "You catch on quick. I know my way around Davik's estate, so once he leaves us alone, we'll grab the Ebon Hawk and get out of there."

"This is too risky," Bastila interrupted. "We should find another way."

"You got another plan, sister?" Canderous queried, eyes flashing. "Or are you just objecting 'cause you didn't think of it?"

Bastila regarded the Mandalorian silently for several moments. "No, I… don't have another plan. I would rather not place my life in your hands, however."

Canderous barked a short, sardonic laugh. "I can say the same about you; that makes us even. Fortunately we all want to get off this rock, right?"

"We really don't have any choice," Jaran said. "Bastila, I think it would be better if you head back and get the others ready, while I head to Davik's estate with Canderous."

"No, you should bring her along," Canderous interrupted. "Davik saw the swoop race and knows you won her. It will look suspicious to him if you show up at his base without her."

"So she completes the disguise."

"Exactly," Canderous agreed. "You'll have a certain celebrity by virtue of winning that swoop race in the manner you did and parading her through Davik's base, as long as she plays the part of the unwilling slave, will gain you the respect of Davik's thugs."

Bastila's face, which had been stony to begin with, had begun to resemble a Dantooine thunder cloud as Canderous continued. "This plan of his is becoming worse and worse," she declared sourly.

Jaran had the distinct impression things were about to become unpleasant between the two. "Canderous, wait here a moment while we discuss this in private."

Not bothering to wait for the Mandalorian's answer, Jaran ushered Bastila away from the mercenary to a nearby table. "Bastila, I know you don't like this, but we're out of options here."

Bastila searched Jaran's eyes before dropping her own with a sigh. "I know, Jaran. But a part of me wonders if this is all part of an elaborate plan to turn me over to the Sith, or capture me and sell me out to the highest bidder."

"I know, Bastila, believe me I have thought the same thing. For what it's worth, I believe he's telling the truth."

Bastila looked up again at Jaran, unshed tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and slightly tremulous. "Of course, you are right. But I told you before, Jaran, I was a prisoner of the Vulkars and I don't intend to become anyone else's prisoner, whether the Exchange or the Sith."

"And I told you, I will not let that happen," Jaran responded with determination, once again able to glimpse the vulnerable side of his Jedi companion. With her attitude and imperious manner, it was easy to forget she was not yet twenty years old. "Bastila, I understand how you feel, but this may be our only chance to get off this planet. I think that between the two of us we can handle anything the Exchange throws at us and besides, we haven't found anything else to get us away from here and it's getting a little late in the game to be backing out now."

Bastila nodded her head and took a deep breath. "I understand. No more stalling then, let's do this."

Jaran nodded in encouragement at her sudden determination and led the way back to the mercenary's table.

"All right, Canderous," Jaran said, as they sat down at the table, "we'll do it your way."

Canderous nodded once before Jaran continued. "I don't think we need to discuss what will happen if this is a trap…"

Jaran's ominous statement earned nothing more from Canderous than a careless shrug. "I would expect nothing less."

Jaran exchanged a look with Bastila. "Just so we understand one another."

* * *

In the vastness of space, high above the surface of Taris, a Sith fleet stood in orbit of the planet, arranged in standard blockade formation. It was the largest single concentration of ships in the Sith dominated section of the galaxy, sporting scores of ships committed to the interdiction of the planet and the capture of the greatest obstacle to the Sith's ultimate victory over the Republic – a young, yet powerful, Jedi. These massive ships glided through space, their sleek, powerful lines accentuated by the bristling turbolaser batteries which gave them their power. 

Even higher, floating over the fleet like a strict overseer watching his charges, another massive ship orbited the planet. The Leviathan, flagship for the entire fleet, glided along smoothly, a dangerous predator more than half again as large as any other ship in the fleet. She was powerful and dangerous, possessing the most sophisticated and advanced technology, and well able to withstand the assault of any three other ships combined. Like all of her subordinates, the Leviathan was wedge shaped and sleek, the bridge and control stations situated near the back of the ship in a massive tower. In contrast to the other ships, however, she also boasted a long, narrow fuselage which ran parallel below the main body of the ship, attached at the base, giving her the profile of a massive Firaxa shark, jaws open to swallow those unfortunate enough to wander too near. Her only other contemporary was now a dead hulk floating in space, the flagship of Malak's erstwhile master, destroyed when the current Sith Lord had ordered the betrayal of Revan some six months earlier.

As awe-inspiring as the immense ship was, the dark presence which brooded aboard her deck was more feared than even the massive vessel. He was tall, almost two meters in height, and possessed of a muscular, powerful frame. He was completely bald, with two long tattoos starting at his forehead and extending parallel to each other along the top of his head to the back. To all outward appearances, he could have been a statue, standing silent and imposing on the deck of the ship. If any had dared to approach their leader from the front, they would have seen him contemplating the planet below with an almost ferocious intensity. It was as thought he scrutinized the world below, willing it to give up its secrets and reveal the young Jedi who was the greatest threat to his power. The bustle of the bridge was muted, subdued when the brooding presence stood there, which had been almost constant recently, the officers and bridge crew working quietly and efficiently, all fearful of drawing the attention of their volatile leader.

Those who had no choice but to deal with the Dark Lord did so in a careful, respectful manner, regardless of their personal qualifications or experience. One such was Admiral Saul Karath, High Commander of the Sith fleet. Approaching the motionless Sith Lord, he stopped several feet away and bowed low.

"You summoned me, Lord Malak?" Saul asked, his voice even and calm. Karath was a veteran of the Mandalorian Wars and had known Malak since before his fall; if anyone could be said to know how to deal with the dark lord, it would have been Saul.

The Dark Lord was silent for several moments. Those at their stations watched in silent interest, all the while trying to appear as if they took no notice of the exchange.

At length, Malak broke the silence. "The search for Bastila is taking too long. We cannot risk her escaping Taris. Destroy the entire planet."

Saul's expression was stunned as he tried to process what he had just been ordered to do. "Th… the entire planet, Lord Malak? But… there are billions of people on Taris! We'd be slaughtering countless innocent civilians. Not to mention our own men still on the surface."

Malak stood motionless for several more seconds before turning, a slow, menacing motion, and peering at his admiral. His eyes blazed with the unnatural orange characteristic of Sith force users. As arresting as his eyes were, however, his face was dominated by a rounded metal cage which covered the bottom of his face where his jaw should have been. His voice issued from behind that mask, a cold, metallic hiss, hovering between a natural voice and a mechanical one. "Your predecessor once made the mistake of questioning my orders, Admiral. Surely you are not so foolish as to make the same mistake?"

"Of… of course not my Lord Malak," Saul responded, bowing in supplication. "I will do as you command. But it will take several hours to position our fleet."

"Then I suggest you begin immediately. You are dismissed, Admiral." The Sith Lord returned to his contemplation, the admiral already forgotten.

"Yes, Lord Malak," Saul whispered, before turning and motioning to his senior officers.

Within moments, the entire Sith fleet began to move.

* * *

After sending a quick, encoded message to Carth, warning him to be ready to leave at a moment's notice, Bastila and Jaran boarded Canderous's speeder for the ride to the crime lord's estate, a mere twenty minutes from the cantina. 

The estate itself was massive and imposing, surrounded by a tall security fence and guarded by numerous hardened Exchange thugs. At various points along the wall, Jaran saw signs of heavy weapons installations and sophisticated defensive systems. An offhand comment from Canderous revealed it had formerly been the estate of a highly placed government official who had fallen from power in the governmental purge initiated by Revan at the time of his visit the planet five years earlier during the Mandalorian Wars and before he had become the dark lord. Jaran assumed Davik had taken control of the residence soon after and it was now home to the Exchange headquarters on Taris, complete with its own hangars and warehouses – everything the crime lord would need to run his empire.

They stopped outside the front entrance to the mansion and entered under the watchful, unfriendly eyes of Davik's guards. The interior was wide and spacious – opulent marble covering the floors and pillars, with all manners of artwork, ranging from the newer holo-art to older paintings, statues and pottery, covering the floors and walls, as well as tucked into every available nook and cranny. While Jaran was no interior decorator, it was obvious the decorations were designed more to impress by bludgeoning the viewer over the head with wealth than by any pretense at taste. No doubt, business had been profitable and the wealth displayed was all part of the crime lord's ill-gotten gains.

Jaran had to stifle a laugh as they were ushered into Davik's presence, where he sat holding court in a throne-like chair situated on a dais. The room was large and spacious with high vaulted ceilings and Jaran suspected it had been modified to give the impression of a throne room. The man himself was an older human, possibly mid-fifties with a long, craggy face, bushy eyebrows and graying hair. When he spoke, his voice was loud and gravelly, his manner blunt and forthright. His accent was largely that of several outer-rim settlements where the creature comforts and high society of the core worlds was lacking. All of this lead Jaran to believe Davik had once been a thug in the lower echelons of the Exchange organization, who had most likely come into his position by proving himself harder and more ruthless than his rivals.

As they approached, the assembled gangsters turned to face the new arrivals. Jaran observed many different expressions, ranging from curiosity to downright hostility, although all were tempered with a look of grudging respect for the hulking Mandalorian.

Davik peered at the new arrivals and stood as they approached. "So, Canderous, I see you have brought someone with you. Most intriguing, if I do say so myself – you usually travel alone."

"It's not like you to take on partners, Canderous," sneered one of the men standing near Davik. "You're getting soft."

Canderous regarded the man with unfriendly eyes. His adversary was short, far shorter than even Bastila, and was wearing a large overcoat with a hat and a set of goggles over his eyes, which almost completely obscured his features.

"Watch yourself, Calo," Canderous growled. "You may be the newest kath hound in the pack, but you aren't top dog yet!" The tension in the room crackled as the two men faced each other down.

"Enough!" Davik barked. "I won't have my top two men killing each other – that's not good business. I'm sure Canderous has an explanation as to why he's not working solo anymore."

Canderous regarded Calo with murder in his eyes before turning back to Davik. "This is a special case, Davik. I ran into someone the Exchange might want to recruit. You may have heard something of his exploits already."

Davik peered at Jaran intently, before a smile appeared on his weathered face. "Ah, yes – now I recognize your companion. The rider who won the big swoop race. Very impressive… as was your display in the rather heated battle afterward."

Jaran smirked, saluting the crime lord cheekily. "It was nothing. Brejik had to learn that double-crossers tend to end up dead!"

Davik barked out a sardonic laugh at Jaran's tone. "An important lesson to learn, no doubt. In my line of business I've seen far too many people suffer for not understanding such a basic principle."

The crime lord then turned his attention to Bastila. "And this would be your prize from the swoop race."

"I must admit," Davik continued, "the way she fought against the Vulkars, I'm rather surprised you are letting her walk around so freely."

Jaran moved next to Bastila and placed his arm around her shoulders with an exaggerated air of familiarity. "Yes, she was a great help against the Vulkars – she _was _a Republic officer after all." Jaran's emphasis on the word _was_ elicited another laugh from Davik and grins from the thugs around them.

"She just needed to learn her place. I wouldn't exactly call her trained just yet, but I assure you, she's making remarkable progress."

Jaran looked back at Bastila, who had wisely kept her peace, noting the dark glower on her face as she regarded him stonily.

Davik's answering grin was feral. "Well then, I believe I will enjoy getting to know you both."

Jaran did not miss the look of naked lust in the crime lord's eyes, which repulsed him thoroughly. He forced himself to grin in response. "I'm certain we will get along famously."

Davik peered at Jaran intently and nodded his agreement. "Very well. But now, we should return to the business at hand. With a recommendation from Canderous and a thorough background check, you could become part of the Exchange."

"Canderous told me as much," Jaran responded. "I must admit, the prospect intrigues me."

"As it should," Davik replied with aplomb. "Many would kill to prove themselves worthy of this honor. Well then, why don't you come with me and I'll give you a tour of my operations. I'm certain you'll be most impressed."

* * *

The next hour was long and boring in its detail, but full of little interpersonal undercurrents and tensions which Jaran found fascinating and more than made up for the crime lord's obvious pride in his accomplishments. 

First was Davik himself. Jaran could easily tell the crime boss desired Bastila, although he seemed willing to bide his time rather than make any obvious overtures. To Jaran's eye, the way he watched her when she was not looking, often walking behind her and gazing at her as if to size her up, screamed his interest as loudly as if he had announced it to the galaxy. If he was to actually join the Exchange, Jaran suspected it would only have been a matter of time before the crime lord moved in on his employee's 'possession' and forced himself on Bastila. Jaran was not certain the crime lord would have survived the encounter.

Luckily, for them all, Bastila was too absorbed in impaling Jaran with her eyes, a situation which Jaran pretended not to notice, to perceive the crime lord's interest. Jaran was certain he would pay for his behavior in the throne room once they were out of the crime lord's presence.

When he wasn't leering at the Jedi, Davik's self-preening, smug satisfaction at his own accomplishments was nearly suffocating. He took them through the entirety of his base, showing them the haphazardly placed artwork, storage rooms, hangars and control rooms as if every single article, every success had been his own personal triumph.

Jaran longed to take him down a peg or two.

Their other companion, the short man who had initially challenged Canderous, they learned to be Calo Nord, a bounty-hunter rumored to be very quick with his twin blasters, and whose brutality, efficiency and predilection toward heavy weaponry and lethal tactics had earned him a notorious reputation around the outer rim; he was a dangerous man and not one to make an enemy of. The tension between Calo and Canderous was so thick it could almost be seen. Luckily, Calo contented himself with snide comments directed at Canderous, which the burly Mandalorian did a credible job of ignoring, and took no notice of Jaran or Bastila at all.

The personnel they met were quick to show hostility, although being in the company of the hulking Mandalorian shielded them to a certain extent. Jaran could understand their attitude – he was new and a potential threat to their advancement, and would be considered an outsider until he proved himself and was accepted. It was also obvious that although Canderous and Calo were respected, their reputations and skills placed them high in Davik's organization, which drew them the resentment and even hatred of the rest of Davik's crew.

The one highlight of the tour was the hangar, which housed the ship they had come to steal.

"Ah, there she is – the Ebon Hawk," Davik effused. "She's my pride and joy – the fastest ship in the Outer Rim!"

Jaran looked over the ship with interest. She was copper in color and saucer shaped, her cockpit situated in the middle. She was a medium sized freighter and was nondescript and blocky – exactly as the crime lord would want. However, she had also undoubtedly had several modifications to her shields and engines, making her a perfect smuggling ship – or blockade runner.

"She's a beauty," Jaran responded to his host.

"That she is. Note the state of the art security system I've had installed to protect her. The shields are completely impregnable. Nobody can get past them without the codes to try and steal my baby."

"With the Sith blockade, I expect she hasn't gotten out much lately."

Davik chuckled. "The Ebon Hawk can outrun any vessel in the galaxy, but even she isn't fast enough to avoid the auto-targeting laser cannons of the orbiting Sith fleet. I am, of course, working on acquiring the Sith departure codes so that I may come and go as I please. However, progress has been slow… but we should continue our tour."

Jaran and Bastila shared a glance and Jaran grinned mischievously, wondering how the crime lord would react if he knew he was standing a few feet from the coveted codes. Bastila returned the grin somewhat hesitantly, allowing the tension to lighten a little.

At length, however, the tour came to a merciful end and they were escorted to a room in Davik's guest area.

"These will be your accommodations, where you will stay as my guest for the next few days," Davik stated. "I will not accept no for an answer. The slave quarters are just down the hall. If you need anything during your stay – food, a massage – feel free to call upon their services. If all goes well with your background check you will be invited to join the Exchange. I'd advise you to accept the offer when it comes – or suffer the dire consequences of refusal."

"I hardly would have come here if I wasn't prepared to accept the offer," Jaran responded. "I fully intend to enter your organization and see where it will take me."

Davik nodded with approval. "You have ambition – that's good. I hope you understand when patience is required – and the consequences of allowing your ambition to overcome your judgment."

It was a warning, and not very subtle at that, but Jaran merely nodded his head and flipped Davik a cheeky salute.

Although the crime lord seemed uncertain of how to take Jaran's response, he quickly gathered himself. "Very well then, we will leave you now. I must warn you that if you are found anywhere outside the guest wing during your stay – or if you bother my other guests – my security forces will deal with you most harshly. I will return after the investigation into your background is complete. Until then, make yourself comfortable. Calo, Canderous let us leave our guests in peace."

Jaran watched as the three men left the room, Canderous exiting after Davik, but not before fixing his stern gaze on Jaran and motioning curtly for them to wait in the room until he returned. With the door closed, he turned to face his companion, immediately noting the baleful glare directed at him.

_Time for the reckoning. _He thought to himself.

"You enjoyed yourself back there, I take it?" she challenged, her voice icy.

"If you are referring to the dangerous game we just played, that was about convincing Davik we are who we say we are. Enjoyment has nothing to do with it."

Bastila's eyes narrowed. "It didn't look that way to me."

"Would you rather I underplayed it and had Davik discover what we are here for?" Jaran was once again becoming irritated by her manner. "We'd have ended up in his prison and then your worries about being handed over to the Sith would have been a reality. Or maybe, considering the way he was looking at you, he had other plans for you."

Bastila's face paled noticeably. "What do you mean?"

Jaran shook his head. "You really didn't notice, did you?"

At her look of complete incomprehension, he continued. "I suspected something like this and watched Davik closely. And really, if you had thought to pay attention at all, you may have seen Davik watching your every step; I have no doubt that if we really were who we are pretending to be, it would not have been a week in his employment before he would have been demanding your 'services'. As one of his men, I suspect refusing him would not have been beneficial to my long-term health. The only thing other than making a profit that will capture the attention of scum like this is a pretty face."

Bastila appeared to visibly deflate and collapsed into a nearby chair, her face carrying a look of shock. "I… I don't know what to say," she finally managed to stammer. "I have never been subjected to this kind of treatment before arriving on this Force-forsaken planet and now…"

Jaran pulled another chair close to hers and sat down, his previous irritation replace with compassion for the young Jedi. "Come now," he chided, "don't tell me no one has ever complimented you on your appearance before. You are a very beautiful woman, Bastila."

Her features flushed, but Bastila lifted her chin, assuming a look of airy superiority. "The Jedi are expected to be above such things. The Masters have always been more interested in me for my ability – not my looks."

"Ah yes, the vaunted Jedi control and suppression of emotions," Jaran snorted. "You must have noticed other Padawans watching you at some point. Jedi masters may have cast off their humanity, but many of the knights I knew in the Mandalorian wars were just as susceptible to a pretty woman as anyone else."

"Outcasts!" she exclaimed. "Having gone against the council and turning their backs on the code, one could expect no less from them!"

Jaran grinned, extremely diverted by her indignation. "Bastila, I expect we will just have to agree to disagree on this matter."

Bastila looked as though she would like to pursue the matter further, but instead changed the subject. "So if you knew what Davik would be like, why didn't you warn me?"

Jaran shrugged. "It seemed pointless to worry you. For all I knew, Davik would simply have us shown to a guest room and forgotten us until his checks were completed. Or he could have been a eunuch."

That drew a laugh from her.

"Besides," Jaran continued with a grin, "I didn't want you using your lightsabre to reinforce with him your unavailable status."

Once again her gaze turned frosty. "I would like to think I have better control than that."

Bastila once again fell silent, her eyes distant. Jaran watched her in silence, knowing there was nothing he could do, besides providing her with a sympathetic ear.

At length, she glanced back at Jaran and lowered her gaze to the floor once again. "I'm just not used to being considered nothing more than… than… an object, a pretty bauble to play with."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Bastila looked up at him in surprise. "Given what I know about him, your time with Brejik couldn't have been very pleasant," Jaran continued. "How were you captured?"

Jaran could see her struggle, knowing it was difficult for her to open up. Almost against her will, it seemed, she began speaking about her capture.

"The escape pod landing was rough," she began, her voice hesitant. "While I was not injured, I was knocked unconscious. When I woke up, I was shaken up and disoriented from the crash and exhausted from the use of my Battle Meditation during the battle. And, I immediately found my lightsabre was missing."

She sighed and continued. "It likely wouldn't have mattered if I had been able to find it, as they had me completely outnumbered and I was in no shape to fight anyway."

"They took me through the Undercity to their base, which was very close, and turned me over to Brejik. One of them must have found my lightsabre because Brejik immediately transferred me away from the base, put that neural disruptor on me and locked me up in a cell."

"So how were you able to get out of the neural disruptor?" Jaran asked.

"The Jedi have techniques which allow us to use the force to sharpen our awareness, which have the side effect of helping us combat such devices. By concentrating and the use of the Force, I could keep the effects of the neural disruptor at bay to a certain extent. It _was _difficult, but still I could have removed it at any time."

"But I was in an unfamiliar place with Vulkar guards all around, no weapons and no knowledge of my surroundings. There was no guarantee I would be able to elude my captors if I did escape and being held captive by the Vulkars was infinitely preferable to running out into the waiting arms of the Sith. So I left the collar on and played the confused captive, waiting for my chance to escape."

He reached over and squeezed her shoulder in sympathy. "I'm sorry we were not able reach you earlier."

Bastila seemed taken aback by Jaran's impulsive declaration, her eyes searching his. At length, she looked away, the slightest hint of a blush appearing on her porcelain features.

"Well, the important thing is that you _did_ find me. In fact, I think we should all be grateful you can use the Force, with all you have done to get us off the planet."

"It's been a group effort," Jaran responded, pleased to learn she had such a high opinion of him. "But now that you've brought it up again, I've been thinking about what you said about my using the Force and there have been a couple of events I was wondering about."

At Bastila's signal, he continued. "Well, for example, when I first spoke to you at the swoop race, I told the guard to leave me alone and after, he completely ignored me. And, when one of the Vulkars tried to start a fight during the race, I pushed him and he flew across the room even though I didn't hit him hard. Do you think these are instances where I have been using the Force subconsciously?"

"I'm not certain I should be addressing this," she responded, appearing, to Jaran's eye, slightly uneasy at his question. "But I saw what you did to that guard at the swoop race and it was unmistakable. I was surprised and shaken and was afraid for a moment the Sith had found me. You have had quite a run, from finding me, to the swoop race and everything else in between."

"Not to mention rescuing a damsel in distress," Jaran drawled. "Don't forget that."

Bastila's eyes flashed in irritation. "Yes… well. I hardly consider myself a damsel in distress. I'm a member of the Jedi Order, after all."

Jaran chuckled, shaking his head at her affront.

Bastila regarded him for some time before finally speaking again. "I… I must admit… you're not what I expected."

Now Jaran was confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well…"

Her answer, however, was to be postponed as the door opened and Canderous once again entered the room, his expression bleak.

"We need to move, _now_," he declared without hesitation.

Jaran glanced back at Bastila, who was now focused on the Mandalorian, regretting the interruption to their intriguing conversation. Sighing, he rose to his feet, determined to continue the discussion at a later time.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Davik's been keeping an eye on the Sith fleet in orbit, looking for weaknesses in the blockade in case he ever got his hands on those codes. About ninety minutes ago, the fleet began to move."

Jaran froze, the anxiety which had been assailing him since his arrival on Taris once again screaming through his mind. "There are only a few reasons they would do this," he managed. "Perhaps they discovered the codes have been stolen and want to make it more difficult for us to leave?"

Canderous's face was grim. "They may have discovered your theft, but their original formation would have been the most effective in preventing a ship from breaking the blockade."

Jaran's fears suddenly coalesced into an awful certainty. "Then there's only one more reason they would be doing this… orbital bombardment."

"What?" Bastila breathed, her features completely white. "Why…?"

"I don't profess to be able to read a Sith Lord's mind," Canderous interrupted, "but I suspect he's gotten tired of looking for a particular Jedi and has decided to obliterate the planet rather than let her escape, especially now that their departure codes have been compromised."

Bastila's jaw dropped as she gazed at the Mandalorian in complete shock. "But how did you…"

"Because I can think, sister," Canderous retorted, his tone unfriendly.

Bastila turned her accusing glare toward Jaran. "You! How did you know?"

Jaran shrugged; at this point the source was irrelevant. "I suspected something like this was coming, but I certainly don't know Malak's mind. Nothing more than anticipating the worst – remember how he reduced Telos to a smoking ruin. You told me yourself that you thought I was Force sensitive and it's your 'Jedi feelings' which have been urging me to get off this planet."

Bastila looked as though she wanted to say something further, but Jaran interrupted her ruthlessly. "It's not important now, Bastila. We need to get off this planet now!"

"Does Davik realize what's happening?" Jaran asked, turning back to Canderous.

"No, he has no military training and doesn't understand fleet formations. For now, no one else has caught on. But it's gotten him worried and that may make it harder for us to get to the ship."

"Well, we have no choice but to try," Jaran responded. "Davik mentioned a security system installed to protect the Hawk. Do you know the codes to access it?"

"No, but I know who does. Davik has his pilot incarcerated in the detention area. He will have those codes and should be ready to do just about anything to get out of his cage."

"Good," Jaran replied, motioning the two toward the door. "There's no telling how much time we have before that fleet starts firing, so we better get moving."

Canderous quickly turned to the door and opened it, looking out in both directions. Glancing back at his companions, he motioned them forward into the empty hallway beyond the door.

Knowing they had no time for subtlety or stealth, Canderous quickly led them through the empty hallways of Davik's estate, weapons ready to deal with any of Davik's guards they should happen to meet.

The detention area was only a short distance from Davik's guest quarters, where they found Davik's pilot imprisoned in a force cage. The poor man had been left in the cage with the electrical torture setting turned on and left that way.

Disgusted at the brutality, Jaran stepped to the console and deactivated the cage, allowing the pilot to fall to the floor. The man immediately regained his senses and lifted his head to peer at his benefactors.

"Thank you," he gasped, struggling to rise to his feet. "You have no idea what it was like in that torture cage."

"I couldn't sit by and just let you suffer," Jaran responded, helping the unfortunate man rise.

"I don't have anything to give you as a reward for freeing me."

"I don't need a reward. But I believe you do have some information which would be of immense help."

The pilot stared at Jaran. "And what would that be?"

"I need the codes to Davik's flagship, the Ebon Hawk."

The pilot's face lit up in a malicious grin. "That I can do. You can use those codes to steal the Ebon Hawk right out of its hangar. Sell it to the highest bidder, ransom it back to Davik – whatever you do, you'll make thousands!"

"Just what I had in mind," Jaran responded, feigning greed. "Let's go then, you can leave this place with us and we will drop you off wherever you like once we are away."

The pilot shook his head, fear evident on his face. "No thanks. I don't want to be anywhere near you when you lift his ship. I'll just give you the codes and get out of here on my own."

Knowing the planet was about to be destroyed, Jaran considered telling the man, but thought better of it – the risk was simply too great.

"All right then, enter the codes into this datapad."

Once the codes had been entered, the pilot peered furtively around and started for the door. "I've got to get out of here before Davik finds out I've escaped. I suggest you do the same."

Jaran glanced back at his companions. "Let's move. Lead the way, Canderous."

* * *

A few moments later they arrived at the entrance of the estate's hangar. They had met few other denizens of the estate and were able to bluff their way past those few by virtue of Canderous's presence in the party. 

They stopped outside the entrance and Canderous turned to face them. "Be ready for a fight. This is the one place in the base I won't be able to bluff us past."

Already knowing this to be the case, Jaran hefted his vibroswords and nodded his understanding. After a quick look at Bastila to confirm her readiness, Jaran stepped forward, opened the door and charged through the opening.

The Ebon Hawk stood at the far end of the hangar, which was deserted. Jaran started forward toward the ship, but before they had gone ten meters, Davik and Calo entered the hangar from the opposite direction, arguing together in low voices. Both groups stopped suddenly in surprise.

"What's this?" Davik began angrily. "Thieves here to steal my ship? Sorry, but that ain't going to happen."

Calo however, moved away from Davik, his eyes never leaving the intruders, a malicious smile appearing on his face. "I'll take care of them, Davik. I've been looking forward to this for a long time."

Suddenly, a flash of light and a rumbling sound drew the attention of the combatants out through the hangar entrance. A huge fireball was blossoming out the top of a tall building, and a rain of turbolaser bolts was falling on the surface of Taris.

"Damn those Sith!" Davik cried. "I knew they'd turn on us sooner or later."

Davik brandished his blaster wildly, his eyes feverish. "Well, I'll be the one getting out of here!"

He raised his blaster and fired several shots, but Bastila was quicker, activating her lightsabre and deflecting the blaster bolts back at the gangster, felling him in the process.

Jaran turned to Calo, who still faced them impassively. Calo held up a thermal detonator he had concealed in his hand. "You may have me out-gunned, but I'll not go down without a fight."

But they never learned how a confrontation with the bounty hunter would have turned out, as in that instant an explosion sounded nearby and a section of the ceiling collapsed, burying Calo Nord.

Canderous charged forward toward the ship, as the entire building began to shudder under the impact of several direct hits. "We've only got a few seconds if that thermal detonator was active," he yelled.

At the ship, Jaran quickly entered the security codes to the ship and the three charged up the ramp. "Canderous, get us out of here!" Jaran cried. But the Mandalorian needed no urging and was already halfway down the hallway to the cockpit. Turning to Bastila, Jaran handed her his datapad. "Go with him and use the codes to get us out of here."

Bastila nodded. "I doubt the Sith fleet will be in much position to stop us, intent as they are on destroying Taris, but no harm in playing it safe."

Jaran watched her sprint away from him and he turned back to the entrance. Within moments, Canderous had fired up the ship's engines and streaked out of the hangar through the storm of fire from the orbiting ships of the Sith fleet. A short, rough flight ensued, which was all the more hair-raising for Jaran, blind as he was to what was happening outside the ship. More than once he was thrown to the deck as the Hawk's shields were hit by the incoming fire from the orbiting Sith.

"We're almost there," Canderous's voice suddenly came over the com. "Get them in quickly – if we stay in one position for more than a few seconds, we'll be pulverized!"

Jaran immediately jammed the ramp open and peered out over the hellish Taris landscape, which was quickly being obliterated, as buildings and walkways exploded in geysers of flame As they settled over what was left of the Upper City walkway, three figures came into view from the dubious shelter of their apartment hideout and dashed toward the ship, Jaran helping Carth and Mission onto the ship as Zaalbar dove in with a mighty leap.

Jaran slammed the com panel. "Canderous, we're all on board, get us out of here!"

Immediately, Jaran felt the ship's engines roar in response as the Ebon Hawk accelerated out into the Taris atmosphere and freedom.

* * *

A/N: That was certainly much longer coming than I had intended as work and life intruded and left me with no time for writing. I hope the next one will out more quickly than this one was, but a lot will depend on how busy I am at work. 

As always, thanks for the encouragement and the reviews.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer - I would say that I do not own this, but you all know that already... right?**  
**

**Chapter 10 – To Be A Jedi**

As the Ebon Hawk streaked away into the safety of hyperspace, Jaran breathed a sigh of relief, completely at ease for the first time since they had landed on Taris. He knew this would end up as only a brief respite, but for now their escape seemed blissful and permanent.

The escape itself, once they had lifted off the surface, had been almost simple in its execution. The Sith fleet, as Canderous had informed them, had been moved out of their standard blockade formation, making it easier for the small freighter to slip past them toward the safety of open space. Several fighters had pursued, but they had been so disorganized that it had been a simple matter for Jaran to keep them at bay with the Hawk's gun turrets until Canderous was able to make the jump into hyperspace.

His elation at their escape, however, was tempered by the knowledge that Taris was in ruins. Malak had bombed the planet mercilessly, continuing long after there was anything left standing to bomb. The vindictive Sith Lord had once again proved his sadistic, evil nature and complete lack of anything resembling common decency. For Jaran, it was simply another tally to add to the reckoning – he was determined to make the Sith Lord pay for this latest atrocity.

Jaran stepped out of the gun turret and made his way to the cockpit, where he found Canderous at the pilot's controls, with Bastila occupying the co-pilot's seat.

"What course have you set?" he asked the mercenary.

"Dantooine," Canderous responded shortly.

"Dantooine?" Jaran replied, incredulous. "Why did you choose Dantooine?"

Canderous shrugged his shoulders and rose from the pilot's seat. "You will have to ask your Jedi friend here. She insisted on it." The burly mercenary stamped out of the cockpit.

Bastila had already turned to face Jaran. "Why Dantooine, Bastila? Shouldn't we be heading toward Coruscant to report to the High Command and the Jedi council?"

Bastila shook her head. "Dantooine is a place of refuge and the site of a Jedi training facility. We'll be safe there for the time being."

Carth, who had heard the exchange, walked into the cockpit and confronted the Jedi. "Safe? Look what Malak did to Taris! There wasn't a building over two stories high left standing! They turned the entire planet into one big pile of rubble."

Bastila gazed at the soldier in silence before responding. "Even the Sith would think twice before attacking Dantooine. There are many Jedi here, including several of the most powerful Masters of the Order."

"Maybe Bastila has a point," Jaran conceded, although he was still not completely comfortable with their destination. "Malak would expect us to run for Coruscant. I suspect Dantooine wouldn't even occur to him."

Bastila nodded, smiling briefly at Jaran. "We can also get supplies there and recuperate. The Academy is a place of mental and spiritual healing. Besides, there are other reasons for us to go to Dantooine…"

"Other reasons?" Carth asked, confusion evident in his tone.

Bastila only ignored him and studied Jaran. "Jaran, can I speak with you please? Alone." Seeing no reason not to accede to her request, Jaran motioned for her to precede him out of the cockpit, just catching Carth's dark look as the two exited.

She led him through the main hold of the ship, all the way around to the port dormitory, away from the ears of their shipmates, before turning there to face him intently. "I had intended to leave this conversation to the Jedi masters, but something tells me we should have it now, before we go any further."

Jaran had a sarcastic remark ready to throw at her, but her earnest expression told him he had best hold his tongue.  
Bastila seemed to read his train of thought, nodding in approval when he said nothing. "Have you given any thought as to what you will do from here?"

Not certain what she was referring to, Jaran decided to be direct in his response. "Return and make my report to my superiors; await reassignment for my next mission. What did _you_ have in mind?"

"Jaran, you must know that you can never go back to what you were doing before."

"I don't understand."

"In the Mandalorian Wars you did not fight against Force users, while the ranks of the enemy in this war are littered with Sith Lords.

"I think I have proved I can hold my own against them."

Bastila scowled at him. "You obviously haven't thought this through. Being a Force user has now made you a target, whereas before you were just another soldier to the Mandalorians. Trust me Jaran; it is a dangerous time to be gifted with the Force. The Sith will target you. They will seek you out and turn you to their cause, or they will kill you."

"So what do you suggest?" Jaran lashed out in anger. "Should I just hide under some rock and hope they go away?"

Sighing in exasperation, Bastila shook her head and glowered at him. You know that's not what I am suggesting. As I told you, there is a Jedi training facility on Dantooine – meet with the masters there, petition them for their aid and learn the ways of the Force. Only with the proper training can you hope to defend yourself and resist the temptations of the dark side when they are inevitably presented before you."

Jaran regarded her, his thoughts turning pensive. From everything he had heard about the Jedi, he was certain his beliefs would not mesh easily with theirs. And while he was not precisely a maverick, he had always benefited from the relative freedom of the Special Forces – especially while on a mission. Joining the Jedi would put an end to that and he would be stuck with their discipline, obeying the masters, trusting the Force and all the other mystical mumbo-jumbo which ruled their lives.

On the other hand, he could not dismiss her arguments out of hand. There had been many Jedi killed in the war and many more had turned to Malak's cause. Malak had sworn to destroy the Jedi Order and destroy it he must, if his eventual conquest and subsequent rule were to be preserved – as long as the order remained in existence they would always remain a threat to his power. She was right – he would become a target for Malak's Sith forces.

"So what makes you think they would accept me now, Bastila? As I recall, the Jedi only take in young children for training."

"There is no guarantee they will accept you," Bastila conceded. "But I have to think that with the war going as it has, they will be willing to accept all the help they can get. And your obvious connection with the Force is something which must be considered as well. You are untrained, yet you use the Force with such instinctive certainty and skill. I… I have never seen its like."

"If I am so powerful, why didn't any of the Jedi I served with during the Mandalorian Wars make mention of it?"

"I can't answer that for you, Jaran. It may be that your natural ability was not as pronounced then as it is now. Or, they may have decided it was better not to make an issue of it. Those who left to join the war were almost exclusively padawans and younger knights – not Masters who would have been able to instruct you in the proper use of your talents. Jedi who are not qualified to instruct inevitably do more harm than good when they attempt it, so they most likely never brought it up, fearing they would not be up to the task of training you. And they would have been correct."

She was in earnest, but having heard about Jedi mysticism without any real answers for so long made Jaran testy. "Look Bastila, I understand what you are saying and I suspect you are talking about Masters being able to guide their students along the path of Light. But I have never heard an explanation as to what actually happens to those who fall…"  
Bastila shook her head. "I am hardly a Jedi Master with a lifetime of wisdom and knowledge of the Force."

"I didn't ask a master," Jaran persisted, "I asked you. All the Jedi I've ever met have been quick to say how they need to be wary of the temptation of the Dark Side, but they all clam up when you ask them anything beyond that. If I'm a Force user and will have to be wary of these temptations myself, I need to know what I'm watching for."

Bastila sighed, her features becoming pensive. "I'm not certain if I know how to answer this. The Force acts as a source of our power – something which when manipulated, gives us great skill, instinct and physical prowess beyond what our bodies would normally be able to achieve. It also acts as insight, granting the Force sensitive a brief glimpse of the future. We see things, Jaran, just before they happen; a brief glimpse into the future, which is why we appear to be able to react so quickly.

Jaran gazed at her, stunned at her words.

_As the swoop sped down the track, Jaran relaxed, letting his instincts take over. From side to side he sped, weaving and dodging among the debris scattered along the track's length. As he soared down the track, the experience took on an almost surreal quality. Time seemed to slow down and as he looked ahead, he could see the entire track in his mind and was able to plot the best course well in advance. _

In his mind, he was back on the swoop track of Taris, guiding his swoop bike through the hazardous course littered with rubble and the remains of old swoop accidents. He remembered now how easy it had seemed, how he had had it all planned out in advance. How he had almost seemed to know the track in advance and had known where the obstacles would be.

"Jaran? What's wrong?"

Blinking, Jaran focused on Bastila's worried face. "Just remembering…" he managed at last, still feeling slightly overwhelmed. "When I was racing in the swoop bike race on Taris, it seemed too easy – as if I knew what was coming in advance."

Bastila nodded, a hint of satisfaction appearing on her face. "Yes, that was a manifestation of your Force abilities, but in this you have only scratched the surface of your potential. Some Jedi, depending on their affinity and natural talent can, with training and experience, use the Force to see visions of the past, as well as of the future."

Jaran shook his head and concentrated again on his companion. "That's all very well, Bastila, but you still have not answered my question."

"This is not something we usually like to discuss," Bastila continued, a lecturing tone once again entering her voice. "Not having experienced it myself, I am not exactly an expert in falling to the Dark Side. Jedi are taught to control and suppress our emotions as a way of staying true to the light side, whereas the Sith embrace their emotions, specifically anger and hate, and use them to fuel their powers, believing it will make them more powerful. The masters tell us this is not true, merely that the dark path is easier and that once a person has heard its call it becomes more seductive. I can only assume that once you allow your emotions to rule you, you are unconsciously touching the Dark Side and allowing yourself to be led down its path."

"So the dark side is fueled by emotions," Jaran repeated slowly. "I only heard you talk about the negative ones, such as anger. What about good emotions like love?"

Bastila shook her head. "You are correct; love itself is not a negative emotion. But love can lead to negative emotions such as passion, fear of loss and jealousy; such things will draw us down the path of the dark side as easily as pure hate. We are best to control these emotions and not let them touch us."

"So Jedi don't fall in love; don't marry and have families."

"Yes Jaran, that's correct, attachment of any form is forbidden. We leave our families, control our emotions and dedicate our lives solely to our life and duty as a Jedi. To be quite frank, such emotions and emotional attachments are beneath us, tasked as we are with our duties to the Republic and the galaxy."

Jaran had to hold back a snide comment at her superior statements, knowing that no sentient being was above having emotions, but sensing that arguing with her would not be constructive, he let it pass. "So you think I need schooling by the Jedi masters to avoid the dark side."

"Not you specifically," Bastila corrected, almost apologetic in her manner. "I am not suggesting in any way that you are not a good person or that you will inevitably fall to the dark side. All I am saying is that Jedi training will not only help you to avoid and resist temptation, but will also make you more effective in fighting the Sith, while also giving the Jedi another badly needed Force user to replenish our ranks. There is so much more you could be doing to assist in the war effort as a Jedi than you are doing now."

"All right, Bastila," Jaran interrupted. "Your arguments are sound. I will go with you to Dantooine and meet with this council of yours, but beyond that I cannot promise anything."

Bastila nodded, calmly accepting his declaration. "I would not expect anything more from you."

Jaran regarded his companion, her calm, guarded expression giving nothing away. He was still more than a little skeptical he would be able to join the Jedi so easily, but her arguments were convincing.

"So, is there anything I need to know when meeting this council of yours? Any ritual, proper ways of acting, I must only speak when spoken to, or never turn my back to the Masters…"

Bastila smiled, her eyes lighting up in amusement at his playful tone. "No, Jaran, there are no mystical or ritualistic requirements for meeting with the Jedi council. They will, of course, expect you to be civil and respectful, but there is no formula for a council meeting. Keep in mind, however, they will be able to sense your emotions, and more about you than you may actually want. Just be yourself; don't attempt to present a false front and you will be fine."

"Will they be looking for anything from me in particular?"

Bastila shook her head. "No, nothing like that. Your strength in the Force will shine through to them like a beacon and they will be looking for any sign of deception or unbridled passion, but as long as you just act yourself, you should be fine."

* * *

The journey to Dantooine took two days to complete and was uneventful to the point of monotony. No Sith interdictor appeared to pull them out of hyperspace and it appeared they had made a clean escape from their enemies. It would have been completely mind numbing, except for the tensions which existed between the crew. Although the ship was nothing more than a small freighter, it was more than large enough to accommodate a crew of six with room to spare. Even so, their group was anything but tightly knit, causing the available space to feel closed and stifling at times due to the hostility exuded by the various members of the crew.

The largest problem appeared to exist between Canderous and Carth; indeed between Canderous and anyone else in the crew with the exception of Jaran. However, the hostility exuded between the two soldiers was palpable – a mutual dislike for one another, due in large part to Carth's obvious distrust of the Mandalorian, and Canderous' returning disdain for the Republic soldier. Jaran began to wonder why the two did not come to blows. In contrast to their evident dislike for one another, Canderous had no problem whatsoever with Jaran, even though the latter was also a Republic soldier whom he had fought against during the war. Knowing what he did about Mandalorians and their culture, Jaran knew the mercenary did not carry a grudge over his people's defeat at the hands of the Republic and the Jedi, and that he respected competence and resourcefulness, something which he had yet to see from Carth. Jaran, on the other hand, had proven his worth in the Mandalorian's eyes, when he had demonstrated his ability to plan and carry out an infiltration of a heavily guarded base. He suspected his subsequent dealings with Davik had only reinforced his competence to the mercenary and gained him a certain respect in the eyes of the burly soldier, but Canderous made no effort to confirm or deny this suspicion. Either way, Canderous responded to Jaran and treated him as an equal – a courtesy which he would not extend to anyone else in the crew.

Ultimately, Canderous took to staying in the garage, spending his time cleaning his repeating blaster and armor and inspecting the swoop they found stored there, viewing anyone who came near him with narrowed eyes and suspicious glances. Jaran, having developed an interest in swoops, spent some time there with him, inspecting the bike and planning upgrades for the machine to make her more powerful. Carth, for his part, spent most of his time in the cockpit, ostensibly piloting the ship, but Jaran felt certain he was really trying to stay away from the rest of the crew, wrapped in his solitude and lack of trust in anyone. He even took to scowling at Jaran and Bastila and had largely given them the cold shoulder ever since they had taken their Force discussion and made it private.

Mission kept to herself, shaken up and distressed over the complete destruction of Taris – although Taris had had its problems, it had been her home for most of her young life. Between storms of weeping and bouts of moody depression, Jaran was able to get a rough picture of her young life on Taris; how her brother had brought her there at a young age, taught her how to take care of herself and then promptly abandoned her to move off world with some young Twi'lek dancer to seek his fortune. It was clear to Jaran, from what she told him, that Mission's brother was a small time criminal who had run afoul of the wrong people and had likely left Taris one step ahead of a broken pair of kneecaps courtesy of whatever lowlife crime boss he had managed to irritate. Mission, however, clearly idolized her brother, stating over and over that he had done his best and had taught her how to take care of herself, promising to return for her once he had made his fortune. As that had already been several years earlier, Jaran remained unconvinced.

Bastila remained the taciturn, uncommunicative Jedi, becoming even more aloof than she had been in the apartment on Taris. Jaran knew this was for the best, as he suspected she and Canderous particularly would have struck sparks if left too long in one another's company. Canderous had several times made snide remarks to Jaran about her capture and subsequent imprisonment by the Vulkars – remarks which Jaran had completely ignored. Once Canderous saw he was not about to get a reaction from the soldier, he left the topic alone, but in the infrequent times when they could be found in the same room, Jaran observed the Mandalorian watching the Jedi, a slightly sardonic smirk affixed to his craggy features.

This left only Zaalbar, who wandered the ship, seemingly at random, but largely steered clear of anyone with the exception of Mission and Jaran himself. The Wookiee was largely still an enigma to Jaran, his few attempts at conversation stymied by Zaalbar's refusal to discuss anything about his past. Mission was no more aware of the Wookiee's reasons for leaving his home world than Jaran. Realizing that a life-debt was not a license to pry, Jaran stopped his attempts to learn about his companion, certain he would only anger Zaalbar if he persisted.

Still, for all the friction between various members of the crew, the trip was marked by very little in the way of overt hostility, due in large part to Jaran's ability to keep everyone relaxed and out of one another's hair. He now considered adding the title 'Peacemaker' to his name, to go along with 'Republic Special Forces' and 'Incredibly Powerful Non-Jedi'. Luckily, their journey was a short one and Jaran knew there was very little to keep them together once they reached their destination. He suspected that Canderous would leave them as soon as they arrived on Dantooine, likely to search for his next employment as a mercenary, and that Carth would likely soon follow as he made his way back to the Republic Forces and his next assignment. Mission and Zaalbar would obviously stay with him, Zaalbar for the life debt and Mission because she would not leave the Wookiee, which would make for an interesting time if Jaran agreed to undergo the Jedi training. Jaran doubted the Jedi would allow him to house a seven-foot Wookiee and Twi'lek sidekick in the academy, not to mention the havoc the two would cause once they became bored, which he could just about guarantee would happen within a matter of days. It would be an interesting situation.

* * *

At length they dropped out of hyperspace and streaked down through the planet's atmosphere to the spaceport of the Jedi enclave. They stepped out into the Dantooine sunlight, squinting against its brightness after two days stuck in hyperspace and looked around with interest at their new surroundings. "Dantooine," Bastila breathed, taking in the scene with satisfaction, "It seems like an eternity since I was here, but in reality it has only been a few months. We should be safe here."

"I still don't like this," Carth disagreed. "Dantooine has no protection, other than this academy, which wouldn't stand a chance against a Sith battle fleet."

"Carth, we've already been through this," Bastila chided. "Malak doesn't even know of the academy's existence. We need to speak with the council and draw upon their wisdom before we go any further. Please, all of you – wait here while I go speak with the council. I will return shortly." She turned and walked away without waiting for an answer, leaving the five companions standing beside the ship, looking at one another.

Typically enough, Canderous immediately voiced his scorn for Bastila's directions, the Council and the Jedi in general and stalked off, muttering to himself about needing a stiff drink. Soon after, Mission and Zaalbar wandered off looking bored, leaving Jaran and Carth standing beside the Hawk, waiting in uncomfortable silence.

They did not have long to wait, however, as Bastila soon appeared and beckoned them forward. "I have spoken briefly with the Council," she told Jaran without preamble, ostensibly paying no attention to their companions' absence. "They request an audience with you. We should go at once."

Jaran nodded and began walking, but Carth only stared at Bastila, confused. "An audience with the Jedi Council? That's pretty unusual for someone who isn't even a Jedi; what's this about, Bastila?"

"I'm sorry Carth, but I cannot tell you. All I ask is that you trust in the Force and the wisdom of the Council."

Carth appeared as if he wanted to protest further, but seemed to think better of it. "Well, I don't like being left out of the loop, but I'm not looking to get you in any trouble with the Jedi Masters. We'll do things your way for a while."

Bastila nodded and turned her attention back toward Jaran. "Come, they are expecting us. I will lead you to the Council chambers."

The academy was a quiet, tranquil place, no doubt kept that way by design by the Jedi Masters for the benefit of their students. Here and there as they walked through the halls, they came across other members of the Order, all dressed in the traditional Jedi robes of various colors and hues. Although he had never been to Dantooine before, Jaran felt a sense of familiarity and belonging, along with a nagging sense of familiarity, which both calmed and unnerved him.

Jaran carefully watched the members of the order, who all appeared to belong and to have a purpose. It was as thought the entire community was in harmony with everyone and everything at peace. Even though he, like many others at the time, had been angry with the Jedi Council for withholding the Jedi's aid during the war, he now understood why the Jedi of his acquaintance appeared so out of place – they still had the skills, training and bearing of Jedi, but the acceptance of the order was missing, leaving them adrift without membership in the brotherhood which had defined their entire lives. Here, the Jedi all fit in and were accepted. It was a startling and sudden moment of understanding for the young soldier.

"You there! Padawan!" a loud voice startled Jaran out of his thoughts and he stopped, looking around in confusion. Immediately his eyes rested on a young woman, dressed in Jedi attire, who was standing imperiously with hands on hips, regarding him. She was of moderate height and was dressed in the traditional Jedi robes in light tans and browns. She would have been rather pretty, except for the stern, disapproving expression on her face and the rather severe knot her blonde hair was drawn back into on the back of her head. "Why are you not wearing the customary robes of the Jedi?" she continued. "Do you mock the honored traditions of our Order?"

Jaran glanced around the small courtyard, wondering where Bastila had gotten to, before meeting the Jedi's gaze blankly. "I'm sorry, were you speaking to me?"

An exasperated expression appeared on her face and she tapped her foot in annoyance. "Who else would I be speaking to? I don't see any other Padawans sauntering around in mere soldier's garb."

Jaran stiffened and scowled back at the Jedi for her slight against his chosen profession. "I believe you are mistaken; I am not a Padawan. I am Jaran Kalind and I have come here with Bastila."

"Bastila Shan? I have never met her, although she has become famous for her use of Battle Meditation, remarkable really in one so young. Of course, there are whisperings that she has developed a rather… foolish pride in her own abilities…"

"I'm sorry," Jaran interrupted, becoming impatient, "but what does this have to do with me?"

"You claim you are not a Padawan," she challenged. "I find this hard to believe. The Force is strong within you; I can feel its presence. If this is some type of jest, it is in very poor taste – the Jedi Order is not a subject for jokes."

Bringing his irritation under control, Jaran regarded her with exaggerated patience. "I am telling you the truth. I am not a Padawan, and although I have been told that I am strong in the Force, I have not joined the Jedi Order, nor am I convinced one needs to be a Jedi to be an effective force for good in this galaxy."

His rather pointed reference to her rudeness produced the desired effect, as her countenance softened. "Please forgive the abruptness with which I first greeted you," she apologized with a slight bow of the head. "It was harsh… and perhaps unfair. My Master often warns me I must learn to control my emotions; I see I have much to learn."

Jaran sensed her apology was genuine and returned the bow, aware that her outburst was nothing more than an over-active protective instinct toward supposed slights against Jedi honor. Glancing around once again, Jaran spotted Bastila, regarding the situation from across the courtyard. Looking back at his other companion, Jaran noticed Carth staring at him; Jaran could almost see the questions and accusations floating in his eyes.

Not wanting to be subject to Carth's interrogation, Jaran began walking immediately, noting Bastila's curiosity in his brief encounter. "Just an over-eager Padawan," he stated. Bastila's gaze flickered toward the woman, who was now leaving the courtyard in the opposite direction, and she decided to forebear any questioning over the incident. "Come, the Council is waiting for us."

* * *

They soon arrived in the council room, a large, circular chamber dimly lit and literally carved from the rock of the planet. As they walked in, Jaran's eyes were immediately drawn to the opposite end of the chamber, where four Jedi Masters, two humans, a Twi'lek and a small, green alien, the like of which Jaran had never seen before, stood watching the supplicants enter with impassive expressions on their faces. Jaran felt unnerved by their scrutiny, realizing they were ignoring his two companions to focus on him. He felt… as if the Jedi Masters could see through him, as if he had been judged and found wanting.

He would dearly have liked to turn around and walk right back out of the room, leaving the Jedi behind forever. However, he mustered his courage and followed Bastila into the room, stopping behind her as she stepped forward and inclined her head in respect before the Jedi Council. "Masters, as requested, I bring Jaran Kalind before you."

One of the Masters, a purple-skinned Twi'lek, nodded his head and addressed Jaran. "Ah, so you are the one who rescued Bastila. And Commander Onasi as well, who I am certain played a large part in returning our Padawan to us. It is appropriate you are here; we have been discussing your rather special case. I am Zhar, a member of the Jedi Council."

Indicating the other Masters he continued. "With me are Master Vrook, Master Vandar and, of course, the Chronicler of our Academy, Master Dorak."

Jaran studied the masters standing with the Twi'lek. Master Vrook was an older human, with ruddy skin and a scowl firmly planted on his face – he looked the quintessential strict schoolmaster. Dorak was the second human, dark skinned with a kindlier look than Vrook, but a shrewd, calculating gleam in his dark eyes. The final member of the council was the small, green alien. Now that Jaran was much closer he could see Master Vandar was less than a meter tall, with long, pointed ears and a wizened, yet kindly face.

"I am honored to be here, Masters," Jaran said respectfully, bowing his head. "What does the Jedi Council want from me?"

"Bastila tells us you are strong in the Force," the Twi'lek, Zhar, replied. "We are considering you for Jedi training."

"Master Zhar speaks out of turn, perhaps," Master Vrook rumbled. "We need indisputable proof of your strong affinity to the Force before we would even consider accepting you for training."

"Proof?" Bastila interjected. "Surely the entire Council can feel the strength of the Force within this man… and I have already related to you the events that took place on Taris."

Four sets of eyes suddenly left Jaran and bored into Bastila, causing a blush to appear on her cheeks. "I apologize for my outburst, Masters," she said, head bowed, hands spread out in supplication. "I have seen this man show such an instinctive grasp of the Force – do things that should have been beyond all but the most powerful Jedi. I don't believe we can afford the chance to refuse his aid so casually."

"Perhaps it was simple luck," Vrook responded, scowl once again fixed upon Jaran.

Master Zhar shook his head. "We both know there is no luck, there is only the Force. We all feel the power in Bastila's companion, though it is wild and untamed. Now that this power has begun to manifest itself, can we safely ignore it?"

"The Jedi training is long and difficult, even when working with a young and open mind," Vrook once again disagreed. "Teaching a child is hard. How much harder will it be for an adult to learn the ways of the Jedi?"

"Traditionally the Jedi do not accept adults for training," Dorak spoke for the first time. "There are, however, rare exceptions in the history of our Order. But you are a special case."

Jaran felt distinctly uncomfortable with the line the conversation was taking, but before he could speak up, Vandar interjected. "I agree with Master Dorak. Many of our own pupils are leaving the Jedi order to follow the Sith teachings, we need recruits to stand against Malak! With Revan dead..."

"Are you certain Revan is truly dead?" Vrook demanded angrily. "What if we undertake to train this one and the Dark Lord should return?"

Vandar gazed impassively at the tall human, before turning back to the now thoroughly confused Jaran. "We should discuss this matter more fully in private. Bastila, you and your companions must go; this is a matter for the Council alone."

"As you wish, Master Vandar," Bastila agreed quickly. "We shall return to the Ebon Hawk and leave you to your deliberations." She immediately bowed and began walking from the room, motioning for Jaran and Carth to follow.

* * *

The walk from the council chamber was a blur to Jaran as he tried to make some sense of what the council members had said and why they had suddenly broken off the meeting. It was almost as though they saw some darkness in his future, a darkness which made them wary of a simple Republic soldier. Jaran had never had any illusions as to his character – he had always considered himself to be a generally good person, but he also knew he had made mistakes, as had anyone else. Unless the Masters were looking into the future and identified some distant threat, Jaran could not understand what they could see in him which would give them such pause.

As they emerged into the sunlight of the courtyard once again, Jaran could stand it no longer. He jogged forward and grabbed Bastila's arm, gently but firmly pulling her back to face him. "Care to tell me what that was all about?"

Bastila regarded him coldly, glancing down at his hand on her arm, while at the same time looking distinctly uncomfortable. As he removed his hand from her arm, she sighed and responded. "You must forgive the Masters, Jaran. They have seen much, suffered much and have so much more experience in the ways of the Force, that we do not always understand their actions."

"Suffered much!" Jaran snorted, his voice filled with contempt. "I don't remember too many Masters suffering on the front lines when the Mandalorians were destroying whole worlds. Ask the remnants of the Cathar if they are impressed with the Masters' suffering!"

Bastila stiffened, but with visible effort bit back a scathing reply. "Jaran, you know very well I don't mean it that way – the Masters carry the burden of knowledge and guiding the Jedi Order properly, and with that responsibility sometimes comes very difficult decisions. I am only suggesting you don't judge the Masters harshly based on one brief meeting."

"I find it difficult _not_ to judge them harshly," Jaran grated through clenched teeth. "However, even if I give them the benefit of the doubt, Vrook in particular seemed to view me as the heir apparent to Malak and I'd like to know what that is all about."

Bastila sighed again, rubbed her eyes wearily before returning Jaran's gaze. "I can't tell you what Vrook sees, or what he thinks. He is infamous as a difficult Master to please and a strict interpreter of the Jedi Code – if you think he was difficult in the council meeting, try sitting through one of his lectures on the interpretation of the code or the dangers of the Dark Side. You must also understand Jedi have always been trained from a very young age and the idea of accepting one as old as you for training carries significant uncertainty, and no small amount of risk."

"Risk?" Jaran demanded. "What are you talking about?"

"As Master Vrook stated, it is much easier to train and mold a young mind and yet there are still failures, as Malak and Revan have so overtly displayed. Training an adult, whose opinions and character are already set by a lifetime of experience… I'm certain it seems like a daunting task."

Jaran nodded his understanding. "I don't disagree; it's one of the reasons why I've never been convinced my entering Jedi training is a good idea. I don't imagine my beliefs will be very compatible with yours."

Bastila stared back at Jaran and he thought he detected compassion in her expression. "Jaran, I would never have suggested this if I didn't think you were capable, both physically and mentally. I think you'll find your beliefs are not as incompatible with ours as you think; after all, it's a person's character which is important, is it not? I think you have shown a compassion and integrity worthy of any Jedi; trust me – I believe you would make a fine Jedi, if that is the path you should choose to pursue."

Jaran regarded his companion, somewhat mollified by her praise and confidence in his abilities, but still rather suspicious of the Masters and their attentions. He decided there was no further point pursuing the matter with her, as she was obviously no more aware of the Masters' motivations than he was himself. "Thank you for your vote of confidence, Bastila. I will try to keep an open mind."

"Just be yourself, Jaran," she counseled.

"And when were you planning on telling me you are Force sensitive?" Carth interjected rudely.

Jaran regarded the pilot, noting the dour mask planted on his face and the hard, accusatory tone of his voice. Knowing this whole episode had been a blow to Carth's nonexistent level of trust and the pilot was spoiling for a fight, he decided there was nothing he could do to mollify his companion. "I wasn't planning on telling you at all, Carth," he responded pointedly. "It's none of your business."

He turned his back and immediately began stalking away, leaving the pilot fuming in his wake. Bastila threw a quick, sympathetic glance at Carth before turning to follow Jaran away from the courtyard. Carth, however, stood there rooted on the spot, swearing softly to himself for several moments before turning and stalking off after his companions.

It was an uncomfortable evening in the common area of the Ebon Hawk that night. Neither Canderous, nor Zaalbar and Mission had reappeared and that left Jaran, Bastila and Carth alone for the evening. They made do with a quick dinner from the Hawk's store of supplies. There was little to no talk during the evening; Jaran and Bastila were wrapped up in their own thoughts, while Carth nursed his injured pride in complete silence, while contemplating a niggling voice in the back of his head, which told him Jaran had been completely correct. They all retired early, anxious to leave behind such a tense and depressed atmosphere.

* * *

_A dimly lit chamber, fashioned from ancient, weathered stone. A massive, stone door, sealed, prohibiting entrance into its depths._

_Two figures stride, pacing back and forth, gaits slow and uncertain. In the muted light, their forms are indistinct, yet their presence commanding. One figure is covered in black armor, face covered by a red and black mask, all other details covered, hidden by its robes. The other is much taller; possessed of a powerful, yet lean form, a long, plain face; a single tattoo decorates his bald head, starting above both eyebrows and extending back to cover the entire back of his head._

_The bald man comes to an abrupt halt and turns to his companion._

_"The dark side is strong in this place," his voice a deep baritone, he raises clenched fists, as if in ecstasy. "I can feel its power!"_

_He gains control of himself with visible effort and watches his companion move to inspect the sealed doorway. "Is this wise? The ancient Jedi sealed this archway. If we pass beyond this door, we can never go back; the Order will surely banish us."_

_His questions have no effect on his companion – the black clad figure continues to manipulate the controls for the door. The door slides open and the black clad figure begins to advance into the room beyond._

_The bald man watches his companion stride into the room, before moving to follow. "Are the secrets of the Star Forge so valuable? Can its power truly be worth the risk?"_

_But his heart is no longer in it. Together, they advance into the room. Before them, something begins to stir. Machinery – ancient and dusty from disuse – an inverted tripod, the three arms separate and lower outward toward the floor. A small, black ball rises from the center and hovers in the air, beginning to spin, to emit an eerie glow._

_Darkness._

* * *

Jaran leaned over the sink and splashed cold water on his face, taking some into his mouth and trying to wash away the foul taste of a sleepless night. He had been plagued by dreams, none more disturbing than his dream of the two in the ancient chamber. After awakening from that dream, sleep had eluded him for the rest of the night, worried as he was over his recent predilection toward strange, troubling dreams and listening to Carth's soft snore.

When the soldier had awakened earlier that morning, Jaran had feigned sleep, not willing to have another disagreement. Relieved when Carth had gathered his things quickly and left for the refresher, Jaran had lain in bed for some time, pondering the recent changes he had endured in his life. Finally, having gotten tired of lying in his bed, Jaran arose and used the refresher.

When he entered the common area of the Hawk, Jaran found it empty. He grabbed a ration bar from the Hawk's store and made his way down the ramp, chewing thoughtfully as he emerged into the morning sun of Dantooine, to be brought up short by the sight of Carth, standing in front of the Hawk, inspecting the outside hull of the ship.

Carth glanced up and peered into Jaran's face. "This morning's getting stranger by the minute. First Bastila comes out looking like she saw a ghost, and now you. Well, Bastila did mention that you should go to the Council chambers before she left. It is no doubt urgent, so you shouldn't keep them waiting."

Jaran nodded, recognizing a dismissal from the soldier – he obviously was trying to avoid any serious conversation. "Did she say anything else?"

"No, she didn't," Carth responded. "She didn't seem well, as I recall… and for that matte, neither do you. Are you all right?"

"Nothing worse than a rough night… I'll be fine."

"Well, I can't say I blame you. I... I haven't exactly been sleeping well myself. Here I thought things would get better once we escaped Taris."

Jaran regarded the pilot as Carth turned back to his inspection, although it was obviously a ploy to avoid any further conversation. "Carth… I think maybe we should talk about last night."

"Oh? You want to argue some more, is that it?" the pilot spat, instantly seeming to regret his words.

"No, I don't want to argue with you," Jaran responded, keeping his temper firmly in check. "I had begun to think we were on our way to becoming friends."

Carth ducked his head, seemingly ashamed for his earlier outburst. "I don't really want to argue with you, either. You seem… sincere enough, I guess. I just don't trust easily, and for good reasons… which are my own."

"But I think it has plenty to do with me, as it appears to have been directed _at_ me."

Carth sighed and bowed his head, shaking it ever so slightly. "Look Jaran, I know I haven't been completely fair or open with you, but now is not the time to discuss this. The Council is waiting for you and I really don't want to talk about it. Ask me some other time, but for now, I'm going to see if I can find Mission and Zaalbar."

Sighing, Jaran watched as Carth stalked away, wondering what could have turned the older man into such a cynical, suspicious person. Shaking his head and filing the conversation away for later contemplation, Jaran glanced around the spaceport before starting off in the direction of the council chamber – there was no sense delaying the inevitable.

The academy appeared to be much quieter than it had been the previous afternoon, no doubt because the students were all in their classes with the Jedi Masters. As he walked the hallways Jaran was struck by the peaceful nature of the planet and could tell why the Jedi had chosen Dantooine for their academy. Dantooine was sparsely populated, far from the major hyperspace routes and was temperate and peaceful in the area the academy was situated. It was a perfect place to train young Jedi away from the bustle of Coruscant where their temple and primary training facility was located.

Jaran entered the council chamber, once again finding the same four masters waiting for him, with Bastila standing off to his left. As he walked toward the councilors, Jaran noticed Bastila's mien and could see what Carth had meant. Her face was much paler than he had normally seen it and her gaze rested on the floor, refusing to meet his eyes. Confused, Jaran turned toward the Jedi Council, all of whom were regarding him with expressions ranging from calculation to intense scrutiny.

It was Vandar who broke the silence. "Bastila has told us of a most unusual development. She claims you and she have shared a dream, a vision of Malak and Revan in the ancient ruins here on Dantooine."

Jaran stared back at the master, uncertain about this latest development. "It's true I dreamed last night, but I hardly think it was shared."

"But it was," Bastila responded, her voice sounding strained and tired. "I dreamed of two men, one masked and cloaked, the other tall with a tattoo on his head, entering though an ancient doorway into a room with a strange machine inside."

Stunned, Jaran stared at the Padawan. "But how could you know it was a shared dream? It seemed just like a normal dream to me."

"Bastila says that she felt your presence within the dream," Vandar responded, "the presence she has felt within you ever since…"

"Master Vandar!" Vrook interrupted, his tone urgent.

"…ever since Taris," the small alien continued, his expression unperturbed as he returned Vrook's gaze. "It is not unknown for this to happen between two people strong in the Force."

The Masters' conversation served only to confuse Jaran further. He wanted to ask what Vandar had been about to say, or what Vrook had _thought_ he would say, but instinctively, he knew he would not receive an answer. "For what to happen?" he asked, taking a different tack.

"We are speaking of a Force bond," Zhar spoke up. "Force bonds are common between Master and Apprentice, but can sometimes develop between other Jedi who commonly work together closely, especially under situations of duress. While such bonds rarely develop as quickly as yours, it is obvious you and Bastila share a powerful connection to the Force… and each other."

Jaran peered at Bastila, wondering how much of this she was aware of and why she had not seen fit to tell him. He could not dredge up any evidence of the existence of this Force bond while they had been trying to escape from Taris, nor could he think of anything else which would have led him to suspect such a thing was occurring. But the events of the past several days had taught him not to casually dismiss things he did not feel were possible; it was unwise to dismiss the Masters' assertions out of hand. "So you think I'm… joined with her?"

Vandar responded. "You and she are linked, as is your fate to hers. Together, you two may be able to stop Darth Malak and the Sith. Whatever dangers may lie ahead, we cannot ignore the destiny that has brought you and Bastila here to us. Together."

"But do not let your head be filled with visions of glory and power!" Vrook interjected, Jaran already used to his characteristic stern, paternal rumble. "Such thoughts are the path to the dark side."

Although he had determined to measure the Jedi's arguments carefully before coming to any conclusions, he knew they fully expected him to join the Order. Knowing they would have him twisted around their collective fingers if he did not state his case, Jaran decided it was time to raise his objections to the assembled masters. "I am grateful for your faith in my abilities," he began, careful in his choice of words, "but I would remind you all that I have _not_ joined the Jedi, nor am I convinced it would be the proper course of action. I have been a soldier for several years now and am set in my views of life and the galaxy. I'm not certain those views would complement yours."

The masters were unimpressed. Almost as one, their expressions darkened and took on a stern, lecturing visage, filled with disapproval.

Vandar was the first to voice his displeasure. "Jaran, you must understand that there is little choice in this matter, for you or us. Across the galaxy the numbers of our Order dwindle. We have sent many Jedi in quest of a way to thwart Malak's advance… many have not returned. The Sith hunt the Jedi down like animals, ambushing and assassinating our brothers wherever they are found. We fear it is only a matter of time until they discover even this hidden refuge."

"Other Jedi have fallen from the light and embraced the dark side, giving their allegiance to the Sith and Malak, their dark lord," Vrook added, his eyes seemingly boring a hole through the soldier."

"I am aware that Jedi have been converted to Malak's ranks. What does this have to do with me?"

"Everything!" Vrook thundered. "The lure of the dark side is not easy to resist; do not think yourself immune to its call. Malak's power grows as more and more planets fall to his conquering armies and more Jedi are corrupted and added to his ranks."

Zhar reached out a hand and clasped Vrook's shoulder, silently entreating him to remain calm. "If Malak is not stopped, the Republic will fall and the Jedi will be hunted to extinction. The galaxy will enter a time of darkness and tyranny not seen for a thousand generations. The Council believes that you and young Bastila may hold the key to stopping Malak and saving us all. We believe it is the will of the Force which has brought you here to us and put you in a position to stop Malak."

"You have a strong affinity with the Force," Vandar added. "With such power comes great responsibility and danger. You may wish to deny what you are, but the Council cannot turn a blind eye."

"Neither will Darth Malak," Zhar continued, nodding his head in agreement with his colleague. "Your strength is a threat to him and in time he will learn of you and the Sith will hunt you down – it is inevitable. Defeating the Sith is the only way to save yourself."

"Masters," Jaran began again, very carefully, "I agree that you present a very compelling argument, but I am a member of the Republic Special Forces and am in a position to fight the Sith on a daily basis. I am also an adult and no matter how you phrase it, I am not a child that you can mould and shape to believe and trust in your teachings. I remain unconvinced I would make a good Jedi."

Dorak, who until now had remained silent, stepped forward and swept the entire party with his gaze before continuing. "Jaran, please do not interpret our insistence as anything but what it is. You have obviously done great things as a soldier and have served the Republic admirably – there is no intended slight to your profession or your position. You can still be doing much more as a Jedi with Jedi training – particularly in light of recent events. That is why I would propose a compromise to you."

Jaran stared at the Jedi Master, certain that behind the affable and open façade, there existed a shrewd and savvy manipulator. "Please continue," he said after a moment's pause.

"Your objections appear to revolve around what you consider to be your unsuitability for the Jedi teachings. Why not take the training and find out? We can arrange for you to have a leave of absence from your present duties, during which time you will undergo the Jedi training and learn our ways. But this will be on a trial basis only, after which you may leave the Order at any time. In fact, no one is forced to remain in the Order against their will, something you would no doubt have understood during your time in the Mandalorian Wars."

Taken aback by Dorak's proposal, Jaran was silent for several moments while he considered his options. He could readily admit Dorak's proposal was intriguing and compelling. After all, even if he ultimately decided against remaining in the Jedi Order, Jedi training would enhance his fighting skills and improve his effectiveness. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed an attractive opportunity.

"Very well Master Dorak, I accept your terms."

"That is well, young soldier," Zhar responded, his face lit up with a smile. "I believe you have made a wise choice this day, from which we may yet be able to gleam a sliver of hope for our faltering cause."

"Indeed," Vandar added. "The Council has decreed that you and Bastila must investigate the ancient ruins you dreamed of once the Council deems you ready. Bastila has described this shared dream to the Council in great detail. We feel it is more than a dream – it is a vision. The Force is acting through you as it acts through Bastila."

"These ruins have long been known to us," Dorak continued, "but we believed them to be merely burial mounds. Perhaps they are more than we first suspected, if Revan and Malak found something there. Perhaps there you will find some clue, some explanation, of how Revan and Malak were corrupted. And perhaps there you shall find a way to stop them."

"But we must be cautious," Vandar said. "Before we send you to investigate the ruins, you must be trained in the ways of the Jedi so that you can resist the darkness within yourself… within all of us. Otherwise you are doomed to fail."

"As you wish, Master Vandar," Jaran replied, bowing in respect.

"We must begin your training at once," Zhar said. "You have a destiny upon you that you must be prepared to face. The entire fate of the galaxy is upon you."

"I can only hope you will prove up to the task," Vrook remarked, his voice ominous.

* * *

The meeting continued for some time after, most of which was instruction for Jaran. The council briefed him on what he would learn and what he would need to do to properly learn the Jedi ways, teaching him the Jedi code and reinforcing the fact that while he was accepted into the Order and operated with the sanction of the Jedi, he would need to live as a Jedi, including following the rules of a Jedi apprentice. They also insisted he be assigned a room in the academy, maintaining he could not learn properly while sharing cramped quarters in a ship with non-Jedi companions.

At last, however, he was released with instructions to report back that afternoon to begin his training. Walking out with Bastila, he could not help but reflect on the morning and wonder if he had made the right decision.

"Why didn't you tell me about the bond?" Jaran asked, curious as to her seeming lack of trust.

Bastila shrugged. "I've tried to avoid burdening you with anything more than you have already had to bear. Besides, I wasn't consciously aware of it myself until this morning."

"Well, I certainly never bargained for all these sudden changes in my life," Jaran grumped. "I never imagined you Jedi had to deal with so many things."

"So, no more doubts?" Bastila asked, her voice teasing.

"Come now, you of all people should be glad I'm Force sensitive," Jaran responded, turning the tables back on her. "Otherwise I wouldn't have been able to rescue you."

Bastila threw her hands up, instantly exasperated. "The rescue again! Very well, for what it's worth, I concede the point to you: you rescued me from Brejik."

"Yes!" Jaran exclaimed, clapping his hands in glee. "I knew you would eventually admit it!"

Bastila's eyes narrowed and she seemed on the verge of lashing out angrily.

"Bastila, have you always been this uptight? I do believe they kept you in solitary confinement when you were an apprentice," Jaran drawled, vastly amused at her reaction. "I'm teasing you. And for what it's worth, I concede your point: you had a hand in your own rescue. It would have been much more difficult if you hadn't already managed to remove that neural disruptor and your assistance in the fight was invaluable and ultimately helped to tip the balance in our favor."

Bastila's expression softened, changing to one of mild annoyance. "I'm not certain why you feel this need to bait and 'tease' me as you put it. We have other things we should be concentrating on."

"Bastila, it's called camaraderie," Jaran said gently. "People who get along with and genuinely like each other are more loyal, protective of each other and have a greater chance of accomplishing their goals. Believe me; if we will be working more closely in the future, we could use a little more friendship and camaraderie."

"Or is that forbidden to the Jedi?" he teased.

Again Jaran was able to witness the rarity of Bastila's face light up in a bright, genuine smile, one he was certain did not come often to her face. It literally took his breath away.

"No, it isn't forbidden," she responded.

"Good," Jaran affirmed. "I would like to think I can consider you a friend."

The smile on Bastila's face became even brighter, telling Jaran all he needed to know. It was obvious she had never had anyone treat her in quite this manner, for whatever reason, and since they would obviously be working together closely, Jaran was determined they would do so with the best possible relationship.

* * *

A/N: I really can not take all the blame for the length of time it took to get this update out; my proofreader has had this chapter for almost two months. I guess I should not complain - she is doing it as a favor after all!

The next chapter is about half finished; I have just run into some difficulties around what I have room for, what needs to be postponed for later and which ideas I had that will not add anything to the story and should be scrapped. I should be able to have it worked out in a couple of days and get back to writing the chapter soon after. 

As always, comments and reviews are welcome and appreciated.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Alright everyone, don't have a collective heart attack, but here is a new chapter of Redemption! The story is not dead and I think I have my mojo back on it. However, as it is not a high priority at this time, updates will continue to be slow, though not as slow as this one was. I will also point out that as my usual beta has other things going on, this and all chapters I post for the foreseeable futuer will not be beta'd. She tells me that she rarely makes any more than the barest of suggestions any longer, so it should be alright. Any mistakes in this chapter are my own.

Disclaimer - this will be my last mention of a disclaimer. No, my name is not George, I do not own Star Wars, I do not make any money off of this. Seems to be somewhat pointless anyway - who doesn't believe that George could shut us all down if he so chose, regardless of these silly disclaimers? Consider this as covering the rest of the story, as I will not mention it again.

**Chapter 11 – Training**

Moving his things out of the Hawk only took Jaran a few moments, most of his personal belongs having been lost on the Spire. Of more immediate concern was the status of his companions and what they would do once he moved into the enclave.

He found Canderous in the garage, donning his armor and preparing to leave. A quick query revealed he had heard some rumors of Mandalorian raiders terrorizing the countryside and he had decided to investigate. Needless to say, his scorn for those calling themselves Mandalorians, reduced to such demeaning and degrading activities as raiding defenseless farmers, was pointed and acerbic. Jaran, well aware that Mandalorian honor was at stake, made no comment; only wishing the mercenary luck in his undertaking and ushering Bastila out of the garage before she could say anything which would cause sparks to fly.

Carth had been waiting in the Hawk's common area with Zaalbar and Mission. Surprisingly, the pilot informed them that the Council had contacted the High Command and had arranged for him to be reassigned directly to the Jedi's command, which meant he would be staying with them on Dantooine. When asked, Carth merely shrugged and told them he knew next to nothing about why the Council wanted him here, but that he assumed it would ultimately be to assist them in whatever assignment they were given once Jaran's training was completed. For now, however, he was without orders and had nothing he needed to do, so he was going to accompany Canderous on his investigation of the Mandalorian raiders, something even more surprising given the general feeling of ill will which existed between the two. When pressed, Carth had muttered something about being at the beck and call of the Council and stumped out of the room.

That left Mission and Zaalbar, who assured Jaran they would be fine living in the Hawk and exploring the area around enclave. Jaran lectured them about staying out of trouble and warned them of the dangers of the Dantooine countryside. He then instructed them to consult with him before ranging too far away from the enclave, all of which only served to irritate Mission as she pointedly reminded him that she was _not_ a child and preferred not to be treated like one. Bastila's wry smile at the young Twi'lek's statement infuriated her even further, causing her to storm out of the ship, dragging an amused Wookiee behind her.

Wondering how he had managed to fall in with such a disparate group of people, Jaran quickly gathered his few meager possessions and made his way from the ship.

* * *

The following weeks seemed to pass in a blur for Jaran, concentrating as he was on his Jedi studies and lessons. Master Zhar held the overall responsibility for training at the enclave took personal charge of Jaran's training, saying the need was so dire and time so limited that he could not entrust it to anyone of lesser experience.

Much of the initial training revolved around combat, specifically close combat training which was the specialty of the Jedi. At first Zhar, noticing the two vibroswords Jaran had sheathed at his back, queried Jaran extensively on his fighting techniques, tendencies and general philosophies toward close quarters combat. He seemed surprised at Jaran's preference for sword fighting, blasters being the favored weapon of most soldiers. Their first several sessions were conducted with vibroswords, generally with Bastila providing the opposition.

That, however, did not last long, as Bastila's technique with a vibrosword left much to be desired and Jaran soon proved to be far superior with that particular weapon. Zhar again seemed very impressed with Jaran's level of skill, commenting often that he had rarely seen such expertise, Jedi or not. He also commented on the fact that as Bastila had reported, Jaran instinctively used the Force in his fighting, allowing them to concentrate on how he was doing this as well as improving his command of the Force in lieu of having to start from scratch.

After only about two days, Zhar produced a practice lightsaber for Jaran and instructed Jaran to put his vibroswords away as he would not need them any longer. The lightsaber training which followed focused on one lightsaber, rather than the dual fighting Jaran was so used to. When asked, Zhar told him that although there were a few Jedi who used two lightsabers or the sabre staff preferred by Bastila, using a single sabre was recommended as a matter of course.

They discussed lightsaber fighting from a theoretical sense the lightsaber forms, of which there were seven, and practiced extensively, usually with Jaran facing off against Bastila, but also at times against some of the other Padawans or even master Zhar himself. The main difference for Jaran was of course the fact that with the lightsaber, the entire weight, what there was of it, was in the hilt, while a vibrosword was much heavier and evenly balanced. Early in their lightsaber matches, Jaran found that as he had dominated Bastila with vibroswords, she turned the tables and was easily able to outmatch him with lightsabers. Jaran, however, was always up for a challenge and threw himself into practice. He found that once he became used to the lack of weight in the blade, adapting to lightsaber fighting was much easier than he would have imagined and it was not long before he began to hold his own against the more experienced Bastila.

Through their training together, Jaran was able to see for the first time, just how skilled Bastila was with her lightsaber. The only time they had been involved in the same battle had been the short fight with the Vulkars after the swoop race and as Jaran had been busy with Brejik, he had not been able to obtain much of an impression of how proficient she really was. But in fighting her, he found she was very athletic and light on her feet, while possessing a surprising quickness and agility. She fought perfectly for her rather dainty size, relying on speed and reflexes, rather than trying to bash her way though a fight with brute strength. And though she was only nineteen years of age, she showed a grasp of close combat which he would have attributed to a veteran of twice her experience.

When he had asked Zhar about her training, the master had imparted that while not all Jedi were considered especially talented duelists, they all had a certain level of proficiency due in part to their rigorous training from a very young age, but also to the Jedi ability to use the Force and learn to accept its guidance in battle. Bastila, however, in addition to her Battle Meditation ability, had always shown an aptitude for the lightsaber and while not one of the great Jedi weapons masters, she was one of the more talented for her age.

Of course, not all the training involved him hammering away with Bastila or the other padawans. He spent much time studying, practicing other skills and meditating at the insistence of his Jedi masters. He and Dorak spent many hours, poring over the Jedi archives looking at treatises on the nature of the Force, studying seminars from previous masters and debating the lives of past Jedi, their actions and legacies. In Dorak, as he had suspected at their first meeting, he found a knowledgeable man with an incredible memory for detail, as well as a profound understanding of the Force. Speaking with him and listening to his opinions was always a highlight for Jaran. He sat in on classes with the other padawans, whether discussing Jedi principles and duties or the nature of the Force and some of its lesser known uses. He would also often sit with Vandar learning from the diminutive master who was of a long lived race and was already several centuries old. They would speak of situations and activities of Jedi long past, debating their actions, discussing what might have been done better, opposed to what they had done correctly. Vrook, unfortunately, remained distant and disapproving, confining his involvement in Jaran's training to lectures about the dangers of the Dark Side and proper use of ones powers. In his studies, Jaran found a thirst for knowledge and appetite for study which he had almost forgotten from his school days, wrapped up with fighting as he had been over much of the past five years.

When he was not engaged in his studies, he was learning how to use the Force in a conscious manner. He was taught some of the esoteric abilities of the Jedi, from using the Force to move objects telekinetically, to discussions on how to affect the minds of others – the famed Jedi 'mind trick'. Of course, as there was no way to practice that particular skill ethically, his instruction was confined to its theoretical use and cautioned not to abuse the ability.

And through all of this, he heard nothing but praise over the way he was progressing. Zhar particularly, was effuse in his approval, stating over and over that in all his years of training Jedi, he had never trained someone who had grasped the training so quickly and instinctively. The other masters as well, although they were not as involved with the training as Zhar, generally had good things to say about his progress, although Vrook, true to character, stuck with comments about how he needed to control his pride, as it would lead to the Dark Side and that he should remember it would take him years before he was able to gain true wisdom.

Other than the council members, however, Jaran found he had very little contact with most of the others in the enclave. To the padawans, he was an outsider, an interloper who had blazed onto the scene like a comet, been inserted into the Jedi training at an already high level and proceeded to monopolize the time of the most senior Jedi trainer in the facility. Jaran privately suspected there was no small amount of jealousy for his quick learning and abilities, as Bastila had told him that some padawans spent years to progress to the point he had arrived at almost overnight. The other masters in residence at the facility largely left his training up to the members of the council, rarely initiating any contact with the newcomer.

The only exceptions to this rule were Bastila, who appeared to be somewhat of a pariah herself, and strangely enough, the padawan who had accosted him on his first day on Dantooine, who he learned was called Belaya. The day after his training began, Belaya approached him again to apologize for her behavior and had offered to take him around the enclave, showing him where everything was and explaining the situation on Dantooine and the surrounding areas. She was a friendly, vibrant person, exceptionally easy to talk to and helpful to a newcomer, unsure of his place. He found that what free time he had to spend in her company was enjoyable in the extreme.

* * *

Two weeks after his arrival, Jaran decided after a day of classes and lightsaber practice, he had had enough of the enclave for a while and decided to leave to spend some time alone and consider his changed circumstances. Dantooine was by and large a pastoral planet, filled with rolling meadows, hills but very little rugged land. The area around the enclave was the epitome of this, filled as it was with gently sloped hills and mushroom shaped plateaus dotting the land at irregular intervals.

He hiked out a short distance from the enclave and finding a plateau which was easily climbed on one side, made his way to the top. The view from even this short altitude was quite fine, as Jaran could see the enclave back in the direction he had come from, while in the other direction, the hills seemed to continue for an eternity, while landowner's settlements spread across the land. Here and there he could see kath hounds, large, territorial canines with especially large teeth and massive, crushing jaws, roaming the land in packs of a few to more than a dozen.

The late afternoon sun shone down on the planet, making it uncomfortably hot, especially in the rather heavy Jedi robes Jaran wore. He made his way to the shade of a nearby tree, shed his outer garment and began reading from a datapad he had brought along, soon losing himself in a history of Exar Kun, the powerful Sith Lord and betrayer from nearly fifty years before.

How long he stayed that way, Jaran was not certain, but when he finally looked up from his datapad, the sun was halfway down and the stars seemed about to make an appearance on the opposite horizon. But it was not the setting sun which had disturbed his study, rather his growing sense of someone approaching his position, someone he had become very attuned to in the past weeks.

Sighing, Jaran laid the datapad down on the ground beside him and turned his attention to the approaching Bastila. Though he had originally been dubious of the idea of a Force bond with Bastila, he had become increasingly aware of her during the time they had spent training on Dantooine. As he became more in tune with the Force, he found himself able to sense others when they approached and could often detect emotions and surface thoughts, but with Bastila, those abilities were amplified – there were times when he could almost literally point in her direction, even when he was not aware of exactly where she was or what she was doing. This was particularly enhanced during moments of stress or physical activity.

To be truthful, he was not certain what to think about this development. He was conscious of his strong physical attraction to her, but paradoxically, knew that he was far from having any emotional attraction, put off as he was by her manner which could often be considered superior and sometimes even pushy. She was somewhat of a contradiction – at times friendly and warm, at others aloof. But he was still convinced the front she showed to others was not the real Bastila and whoever that person was, he was also convinced she had buried it so deep, consciously or unconsciously, that it would take considerable digging to unearth it.

He was also acutely aware of the fact that most of the things he had been told by Bastila and the Jedi – things which he had originally written off as impossible – from his latent Force ability to the existence of the bond, had turned out to be true. He would almost have expected Bastila to gloat with that oh-so-superior attitude she was so good at displaying, but she had surprised him by staying completely silent on the matter.

The object of his musings interrupted him, as she arrived at the top of the rise and gazed around at the view of the surrounding countryside. Jaran smiled a greeting at her and invited her to sit across from him. "Hello Bastila, I didn't expect to see you out here."

She regarded him impassively and sat down near him. "I hadn't expected you to be so far away from the enclave," she countered. "What made you come out here?"

"I started to feel rather confined and wanted to be by myself for a while," Jaran responded with a shrug. "This seemed like a likely spot I've had my eye on for a couple of days now – I thought I'd try it out."

Bastila nodded, "In that case, I'm interrupting you, so if you'd like me to leave…"

"No Bastila, I don't mind your company at all," Jaran responded quickly, giving her a warm smile, which she returned somewhat hesitantly. "I was just reading a history of the fall of Exar Kun, nothing major. Since we appear to be joined, it seems to be prudent continue to get to know one another better."

"Agreed," she said. They stayed that way in silence for some time, watching the sun set over the Dantooine hills.

At length, Jaran glanced over at Bastila and voiced something he had been thinking about for some time. "So, any thoughts about that dream?"

Bastila shook her head. "Well, for one thing, it was less of a dream and more of a vision… a vision the two of us shared. But I am certainly willing to answer any questions the Jedi Council did not."

"No, I'm not asking for an explanation, I'm more interested in your impressions of it; why for example, or what it means."

"I'm not certain I know what it means any better than you do," she responded, leaning back against the rock she sat next to. "By why, I assume you are referring to why we shared the vision? Or why we even received it in the first place?" At Jaran's nod she continued. "To the first I can only repeat the answer the Council gave us; our fates are linked, and for two as strong as we are in the Force that amounts to a near-physical bond. As to the second, I don't truly have an answer for you. The Force works as it will, and perhaps we should be grateful for what we have been given."

Jaran almost snorted derisively, aware that 'trust in the Force' was a typical Jedi answer that was not really an answer at all. However, knowing this line of conversation was not ultimately going anywhere, he decided to change the subject. "I agree, there is no logical explanation as to why we shared that dream – why we dreamed of Revan and Malak at all. But going beyond that, I have been thinking about this bond. I have been over every second we have interacted or spent time in one another's company and I can not figure it out. How did we become linked in the first place?"

"I… I don't know," she responded slowly, looking extremely uncomfortable. "I have done exactly the same as you and I don't understand it either. Believe me, I certainly don't find the prospect of being joined to you enjoyable in any fashion."

"Well thanks a lot!" Jaran responded stifling a laugh, his face assuming an expression of injured indignation.

Bastila's eyes widened as she realized just how her statement had sounded and she hurried to backtrack. "I… I didn't mean it that way. I did not mean to imply that you were repulsive in any sense of the word; that we shared something so… personal… is just not something I'm used to."

Jaran grinned at her, causing another frown to appear on her face. "You're teasing me again," she accused, her voice flat. "I suppose I will have to get used to that."

"Don't worry," Jaran assured her, "you'll get there."

Her face blank, Bastila shook her head and continued. "Well, I answered your questions; perhaps you would be kind enough to answer some of mine." At Jaran's nod, she continued. "I saw your service records when you were transferred aboard the Endar Spire, but nothing beyond that. I know very little about you. I'd like to ask you some questions, given our relationship."

"Our relationship?" Jaran responded, his mouth turned up in a smirk. "Is this some kind of clumsy come-on?"

Bastila sighed and rolled her eyes. "I was referring to the bond we share; the one we were just speaking of. If I actually was interested in you, rest assured I could come up with a better approach than this!"

"Actually, I doubt you could," Jaran snickered. "It certainly looks like I touched a nerve from where I'm sitting."

"Touched a nerve, no. Getting on my nerves, most definitely. I suppose this is what you men consider being witty. Now, are you going to answer my questions, or would you rather just keep annoying me?"

As much enjoyment as it was to bait her, Jaran by this time, had a pretty good idea of how far he could push her and knew he was approaching that limit. "I would love to continue annoying you, but I don't have any problem with answering some questions."

Bastila's stern gaze remained on him for some moments, until she sighed and continued. "Thank you. Don't worry; these are simple questions, nothing too intrusive. First, what kind of background do you have?"

"I could swear we had talked about this before, but I was a soldier in the Mandalorian Wars and signed back on when Revan and Malak began attacking the Republic."

"Good. On which planet were you born?"

"Deralia. It's in a remote system. Why?"

"Excellent. Your current age is?"

"23; wasn't all this in my service records?"

Bastila nodded, seeming satisfied. "Yes, well... The truth is I was studying 'how' you responded to my questions. Your reactions help me judge you; this was a test for me to learn more about your character."

"I'm not certain I wish to be judged by you," Jaran responded, the first hint of defensiveness entering his thoughts.

"I apologize – poor choice of words, perhaps," Bastila said, sounding serious and apologetic. "You must know that I am not used to this and am trying to understand; one of the things I'm trying to understand is you."

"And what did you find out?" Jaran asked, somewhat mollified.

"You were honest, which is good. And you treated this as a serious matter, which it is. This bond we share will shape both our destinies; it is not to be taken lightly."

"I assure you, Bastila; I treat it anything but lightly."

"I'm happy to hear it," Bastila replied. "But I imagine you've had enough questions for a while. So many things have happened to you since Taris. It's probably a lot for you to absorb." At Jaran's affirmative nod she continued, still looking to his eyes slightly apologetic and embarrassed. "Jaran… thank you again for your patience. I'm certain this must be as difficult for you as it is for me; I appreciate your understanding."

Jaran regarded her, basking in the sincerity which flowed between them through the Force bond, knowing he was in great danger of being affected by her manner, not to mention the earnest look in her beautiful blue eyes. "Bastila," he began, carefully hiding those thoughts from her, "I imagine adjusting to this bond is much more difficult for you than it is for me; after all, I do not have years of Masters teaching me the evils of personal relationships. And although I have never experienced anything quite like this, I'm moderately certain I have experienced something closer than you ever have."

The corners of Bastila's mouth curved upward in a slight smile she was only partially successful in hiding. "I suspect you may be right," she murmured, turning away to peer briefly out over the plains of Dantooine.

She turned back to him soon after, in her eyes a questioning look. "By your choice of words, I sense you have not completely reconciled with the Jedi restriction against attachments?"

Shaking his head, Jaran responded. "No, I have not, and I'm not certain I ever will." Bastila appeared ready to begin the argument, but Jaran spoke again quickly, determined to avoid spoiling what had thus far been a very enjoyable and pleasant conversation. "Bastila, I prefer not to argue with you about this. I understand why the Jedi feel it necessary to prohibit such attachments, but I simply have a different opinion on the matter."

"And what _is_ your opinion?" she prompted, eyes gazing at him curiously.

"Are you sure you want me to speak about this?" he inquired. "After all I'm moderately certain the council would not want me to corrupt their prize student."

Bastila grinned at him insolently. "Well, maybe I _want_ to be corrupted."

"And I'm sure you would be a lot of fun to corrupt," Jaran replied with a laugh.

"However," he continued, "I guess since you asked; I cannot believe that love and good relationships would lead a person down the wrong path."

"I understand this may be a difficult concept for one so new to the ways of the Force…"

Jaran shook his head. "I don't think that's really a factor, Bastila. All I need to do is think about my family relationships I had as a child to know that I would not have wanted any other life."

"You treasured those relationships."

"Definitely. Let's take it one step further. You became a Jedi at a young age, but you still remember your family, right?" At her nod he continued. "Try to recall your own family life then. Did your parents love you?"

Bastila's face darkened and she turned away from him briefly. Aware that he had somehow stumbled onto a sensitive subject with her and that he was not making any headway in his argument by bringing up her family.

"I would prefer not to discuss my family," she responded tightly after a moment.

"My apologies, Bastila."

"No need; there is no way you could have known about my family as we have never discussed it before."

"No," Jaran agreed. "So we talk about my family life. I have good parents who cared for me and a younger sister I adore. I can't imagine how such a childhood could ultimately be detrimental even if I am a Force user."

"But this is just your upbringing, Jaran" Bastila pressed. "You never knew any different, so this is what you see and believe in and you didn't even know you could use the Force until very recently. It's natural that it would seem right to you."

"My upbringing may have been different than yours and certainly my viewpoint has been affected, but ultimately I believe this is an issue of our biological and emotional makeup, not the manner in which we are raised."

Bastila regarded him, her head slightly angled to one side, a curious expression affixed to her face. "Please explain."

"Well, for starters, we are sentient beings and sentient beings have feelings – that's just the way we are."

"But with discipline and training, we can rise above our feelings," she disagreed.

"Can you?" Jaran challenged. "Are you all in control of your feelings all the time? Or do you sometimes find yourself in situations where your control slips and your emotions flood out?"

Bastila shook her head slowly, "If one is truly in control that will never happen."

"Come on Bastila, _no one_ has that much control. And anyway, even if I thought I did have that much control, I don't think I would want to shut my emotions away. I can't imagine losing something that is a part of me, or my relationships with my family, friends – everything I care about. It seems to me I am better off allowing myself to have these emotions and let my conscience dictate how I handle the negative emotions. I believe if children are taught the proper beliefs and trained to control themselves, they will naturally grow up to embody their good traits. If I shut out my emotions, I may as well be a droid."

Her gaze was implacable as she regarded Jaran and he could almost hear the accusatory thoughts going through her mind. She was attempting to shield her thoughts and emotions, but at that moment, her feelings were so strong, some were leaking through. He felt her emotions as they ranged from disappointment and anger, to trepidation and even a hint of fear. But what did she have to fear? Certainly not him, he sensed, but more that he would leave her, presumably to have to carry the burden of the mission herself.

"So, that's it then, is it?" she bit out before he could say anything.

"What?" Jaran responded, keeping his emotions even and calm.

"From the way you were talking, it sounds like you have given up on becoming a Jedi altogether. You are discounting the Jedi position on emotions out of hand."

Jaran wisely restrained himself from pointing out her own present heightened state emotion. "No Bastila, I have _not_ given up on anything yet."

She gazed at him, suspicion floating in her eyes. "But you just said you don't agree with the need to control your emotions. That is a basic tenet, Jaran, not one you can conveniently ignore."

"Bastila," Jaran began gently, "I have not ruled anything out just yet. I was merely stating my opinion on the matter, and yes – I do have a problem with emotion suppression, but that is not to say my view will not change."

"Jaran, you have to understand that relationships are forbidden," Bastila said, her voice steady, her manner intense – focused. "Not only that, but we are trained to keep our emotions in check – there is no other way permitted if you are to become a Jedi."

"And I do understand. But I am committed to this mission, as well as the Jedi training – I will not walk out on you and leave you to carry the burden yourself. I promised the masters I would give this my all and that is what I will do. Who knows? Maybe this experience will change my outlook and I will come to agree with the masters; stranger things have happened. If I decide however, that I still feel this way once the mission is complete, then the masters will either have to accept me the way I am, or I will leave the order. But my first priority is to see this through and help defeat Malak – all other considerations must wait."

Bastila let out a sigh of relief, almost as if she had been holding her breath. "Thank you Jaran; it's good to know I can count on you."

Jaran grinned in response. "I'm glad you think you can trust me. We certainly have come a long way since Taris."

The look on Bastila's face at his pronouncement was almost shy, as she ducked her head and looked away across the fields of Dantooine. Silence reigned as they each sat back and contemplated the discussion they had just had. As night began to fall over Dantooine, here and there, stars were beginning to penetrate as the curtain of light shrouding the sky dimmed with the setting of the sun. Finding his location under the tree hindered his view of the stars, Jaran got up and settled in next to Bastila, gazing out at the darkening sky. They stayed that way for some time, each wrapped up in their own thoughts, looking at the sky.

"I love watching the stars," Jaran stated, breaking the silence. "No matter what planet I find myself on, I always love to sit back and look at the stars."

Bastila glanced over at him curiously. "I have never really thought about it," she responded. "There has always been too much to do to spend time looking at stars."

"Well, maybe you should make some time. Nothing relaxes like stargazing."

Bastila had nothing to say to that statement. They stayed there well into the evening, each wrapped up in their own thoughts, yet comfortable in the other's company.

* * *

After that night, Jaran's training continued to progress and he found the time passed by quickly. Nearly one month into the training, Zhar pronounced him worthy of progression on to the next step of the Jedi training – becoming a Padawan and a full member of the Order.

To do this, he was expected to pass three tests which would demonstrate his understanding of the Jedi Code, his ability and his adherence to the light. For the first, Zhar quizzed him extensively on the Jedi Code, ensuring he had it memorized and understood its deeper meaning. They discussed at length what was expected of a Jedi and Zhar posed fictitious situations, asking Jaran what he would do to resolve them, then discussing what some of the alternatives may have been, or how a situation may have been handled better. It seemed to Jaran that the master was pleased with his responses, although at times he seemed somewhat startled with Jaran's methods, yet was effuse in his praise of Jaran's resourcefulness and innovation. After a discussion of several hours, Zhar pronounced Jaran ready to move to the next phase of his tests: the construction of his lightsaber.

As they walked toward the workshop, the Twi'lek master lectured him about the lightsaber. "Remember young apprentice, the lightsaber is the most prized possession of a Jedi. It is the traditional weapon of our Order and a symbol of a Jedi's skill, dedication and authority, and each lightsaber is as individual as the Jedi who wields it. The blade is made of pure energy, focused by polished crystals in the hilt. As the second test, each Jedi must construct his lightsaber with his own hands."

In the workshop, Zhar showed him to a workbench where he would build his lightsaber and made certain Jaran knew where all the materials were and where to find the tools necessary for his task. He was then left alone.

Jaran had given much thought to what his design would be. He had studied various designs in the archives, which obviously had an extensive section about lightsabers and had carefully reviewed the best techniques for creating a practical, yet elegant lightsaber. Now that the time was at hand, Jaran felt a little nervous, but also excited that he would be creating his own personal lightsaber.

* * *

The next three days passed in a blur for Jaran. With a single-minded determination he attacked his project, starting from the moment he was able to arrive at the workshop in the morning, until well after the sun had set in the evening. During this time, he saw nothing of his friends and only remembered to eat sporadically, focused on his task as he was.

Painstakingly, he forged the hilt into a short, silver cylinder, eschewing the longer handled blades he had seen most of the other Jedi using – most Jedi used one blade and would often hold the hilt in both hands, while he was used to fighting with two and would not need to have room on the hilt for a second hand. For now, of course, he had only been given enough materials to make a single saber, but that was a problem he fully intended to rectify as soon as was conveniently possible.

With the hilt crafted and cooled, he then began the task of setting the different components within the hilt of the weapon, spending hours ensuring each item was placed in its proper place, everything set to within the tiniest fraction of the specification he had set. The dark blue crystal he had been given to complete the task, was placed in front of the primary crystal, and mounted in an exact line to produce a blade which would, in the manner of truly well-crafted lightsabers, be not only adjustable in its length, but also in its intensity.

At the end of the third day, he sat back in his chair looking at the hilt of the weapon he had created which lay on the table in front of him. He was tired – bone tired – but with one flick of the switch, all his hard work and sweat would be justified with the activation of his new Jedi weapon. It was several moments where he sat there staring at the weapon, struck with a feeling of familiarity with it, although he had not yet used it. The feeling continued to grow stronger and he was assaulted with images of the weapon in front of him, struck with visions which superimposed themselves over the weapon before his eyes, telling him that although it was impossible, he had seen the lightsaber before. He shook his head, knowing it was impossible, but the images continued to come, faster and faster.

"Jaran?"

A soft voice from behind, broke his concentration and banished the images passing before his eyes, almost as though they had never been. He wiped the slight sheen of perspiration from his forehead, and passed his hand in front of his eyes, feeling the sense of déjà vu and unease bleed away from his consciousness, while calming and centering his mind as Master Jhar had taught him.

"Jaran?"

The voice was stronger this time, and he tore his eyes away from the lightsaber, turning to see Bastila sizing him up with an air of concern.

"Hello, Bastila," Jaran replied, forcing a smile on his face.

"Are you alright?"

Nodding his head, Jaran reached up and smoothed his hair back from his face. "I'm fine – it's been a long couple of days."

Bastila snorted dismissively. "More like three days, Jaran. I've never seen someone so focused as you've been – you didn't even notice the times I've been in here watching you. For someone as aware of their surroundings as you are, it was a little unnerving to see such single-minded focus."

"You watched me?"

At her mute nod, Jaran cocked his head to the side, regarding the diminutive Jedi with a slightly puzzled look.

"Why would you want to watch me make a lightsaber?" he finally asked, puzzled.

"You must admit, Jaran," she responded with a dismissive smile, "you are an object of curiosity – for myself as much as any others. I was curious about how you would design it and how the finished product would look."

At Jaran's continued look of uncertainty, she laughed nervously and said, in an apologetic voice, "I'm sorry, Jaran – I didn't think it would upset you to be observed."

Jaran waved his hand indifferently, turning and regarding his weapon again with curious eyes. "It's not that, Bastila. I just didn't know I was so intriguing."

"More than you know," she commented softly. Her voice was so low, Jaran was not even completely certain he had heard her.

Pushing her odd behavior from his mind, Jaran once again focused on his new lightsaber. He hefted it in one hand and gazed at it with no small amount of curiosity, wondering what it was about it which had caused him such a strong reaction within the Force. To his eye, it did look somewhat more elegant than most of the lightsabers of the Jedi – most tended to go for strictly utilitarian weapons which were effective, deadly, yet lacking any real style. Although he had been careful to ensure the practical effectiveness of the weapon, he had wanted something with a little more beauty than most of the lightsabers he had seen, and with the clean flowing lines and subtle craftsmanship he had been able to imbue his weapon with, he was satisfied with the result. It also fit his hand perfectly.

Snorting to himself, Jaran reflected with amusement on the incredible hubris and conceit of the previous thoughts. It _was_, after all, nothing more than a tool – a supremely important one to be certain, but still just an instrument to be used in his new life. Still, it did feel nice to have crafted something which was functional, but also pleasing to the eye.

"Well, I guess it's time to see if this baby works," he finally said to his companion, a slight gleam in his eye.

The azure beam shot from the emitter of the lightsaber with the depressing of the switch, the weapon hummed in perfect counterpoint with the sudden beating of his heart, it's steady rhythm suddenly beating strongly though his head. The lightsaber felt vibrant, almost alive as it vibrated in his hand, bringing him a feeling of utter peace and belonging, such as he had never felt his entire life, even in the arms of his own family. This was where he belonged.

"Jaran, your lightsaber…" Bastila began in a hesitant voice.

Jaran raised an eyebrow at her, motioning for her to continue.

"The handle is so short. Shouldn't you have made it longer so you can grip it with both—"

His finger over her mouth stopped Bastila in mid sentence and she regarded him, her curiosity evident on her features.

"Come with me, Bastila," he directed. "I'll show you."

They left the workshop, Jaran with determination, Bastila with more than a little wonder, and headed straight for the training room. It was a massive room, high vaulted and ringed with forged cortosis fibers in the walls to prevent damage from a stray lightsaber. It was late in the afternoon and the training room was largely empty, although a few of the students were practicing various disciplines in certain parts of the room.

Jaran never spared them a glance, his concentration focused equally on his new lightsaber, the woman at his side, and the room which he wanted to make use of. Spying a table on the far side of the room which held a selection of training sabers, Jaran stretched out his hand and summoned one of them, catching it in his left. Although the training sabers were clearly not the equal of his newly-created saber, it should suffice for his purpose.

Turning at Bastila, he executed a courtly bow and grinning impudently, said, "Shall we test this baby out?"

Gazing at his dual lightsabers with what Jaran could only interpret as consternation, she cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure about this, Jaran? It's not exactly a game, you know."

"Believe me, Bastila; I know it's not a game. Still, I can't think of anyone I'd be more honored to test the new saber out with than you."

Although she did not say a word, Jaran could tell his compliment pleased her; a moment later, both yellow beams extended, Bastila assumed a defensive stance.

Not allowing her time to set up, Jaran used the Force to enhance his strength and leapt at her, his lightsabers extended out in front, sweeping toward her like an inexorable wave.

Bastila merely caught his right hand saber on her own and deftly slipped aside, sliding away from the attack like a graceful dancer, all the while a slightly crooked smile played out on her face.

"Now Jaran, 'a Jedi uses the Force for knowledge and defense' you know. Some might think this aggressiveness to be worrisome."

Jaran grinned widely at her, responding with a number of well aimed slashes from both weapons, all of which were parried with the same fluid poise as the first.

"Yes, but sometimes, 'the best defense, _is_ a strong offense'," he responded, his manner cheeky and insolent.

"Sounds like sophistry to me," she responded, suddenly switching to attack. The dual blades of her lightsaber shot out with a viper's quickness, forcing Jaran to respond to take the strokes on his own blades and flip over her. The dual once again flowed in his direction, as he forced her back using several well-placed strokes from his blades.

"So, as a Jedi, you would have me stay back and wait for my enemy to make a move? Give up any possible advantage?"

"It depends on the situation."

"And what would that be?"

She could not respond for several moments, as she parried one of his strokes and slid to the side, aiming her blade in an sidelong sweep, causing Jaran to leap over her blade, and extend both his in a bludgeoning counterstroke on his way down. Bastila was too canny for that move, rolling to the side and bringing her own weapon back for quick follow up attack, forcing Jaran to retreat several steps.

"The Force will guide you," she finally responded pompously. "You will know what is necessary by the whispering of the living Force," she followed up in a somewhat redundant fashion.

"Correct," Jaran responded, once more going on the attack. "But you must also take into account the circumstances and react accordingly. For example, if you are facing multiple enemies, the only way to survive may be to take them out as quickly as possible. Or, you may only be facing one, but there may be reinforcements on the way, and delaying the battle, could mean placing yourself in greater danger. The code demands we use the Force for knowledge and defense, but it does not instruct we sacrifice ourselves needlessly."

"Any other tidbits to impart, oh great Jedi?" Bastila asked in a sassy voice, while forcing him back with an offensive of her own.

"Well, you should always be aware of _who_ you are dealing with as well," Jaran responded after a moment of heavy exchange of blows with his opponent. "If you are confronting someone who is a known killer, for example, the obvious course is to strike first and ask questions later."

The sardonic grin he received in response was followed up by Bastila striking out with multiple blows her saber staff in quick succession, followed up by a leg sweep, which just succeeded in catching Jaran's feet and dumping him unceremoniously on the ground. Before she could press her advantage, he simultaneously pushed her away with a strong wave of the Force and leapt to his feet.

"Should the killer not be brought to justice? Granting the villain death is the easy way out for them – shouldn't they be forced to suffer for what they have done?"

"In the right circumstances," Jaran agreed, forcing her back. "Certainly a killer should be made to atone for their actions, but the more important concern is to ensure they can never repeat their crime."

"And what if they're innocent?"

"I said 'known killer', Bastila. Of course, you will have to adapt your response to the circumstances."

"Then why the sudden attack?" she asked, force him back, then retreating to circle him warily. "I was none of those things, yet you initiated an aggressive attack without any hesitation."

"Call it a youthful exuberance and desire to try out my new toy," Jaran shot back with a smirk.

Bastila's own grinning response became a more focused look of concentration as she once again brought up her sabers for a multi stroke attack, which forced him back several paces. For several moments after, no more words were spoken as the two combatants concentrated on the demands of stroke, parry, riposte – attack and defend with their multiple blades flashing faster than they eye could follow. And although they were too engrossed in their battle to notice, they had attracted a great deal of attention, as the other students and instructors in the room had stopped what they were doing and were even now looking on with amazement.

At length, a thought from Bastila flashed across the bond, indicating her desire to end their practice duel. Jaran was at once satisfied with how his lightsaber had performed during their duel, delighted with the skill and energy Bastila had displayed, and slightly curious about her somewhat awed and concerned sense through their bond. He halted immediately, gazing at her in amazement, wondering at the fluid, deadly nature of their duel.

"Jaran…" Bastila began, her voice and manner halting and uncertain. "I knew you were an excellent fighter, but I never dreamed… You've never been this… effortless and fluid in our training sessions before. How…?"

Staring at the lightsaber held in his hand, Jaran was silent for several moments, before he raised his eyes to the flushed face of his companion. "Maybe it was a matter of finding the right weapon – I certainly understand the references to a Jedi's bond with his weapon."

"Indeed you do, young apprentice," Master Zhar's voice interrupted. "Perhaps your true potential was waiting for this moment before it could be unlocked. Or perhaps you have merely progressed to the point where you have become supremely skilled in your own right. The correct weapon does make a great deal of difference, but do not discount your own skill and aptitude."

Turning toward the newly arrived master, Jaran bowed his head in respect. "Perhaps, Master. I have been fighting most of my adult life and have a good idea of my capabilities, but with this lightsaber… it certainly feels… different, although the training saber did not feel as natural to wield."

"Understandable," the master replied, eyeing Jaran. His features were molded into a thoughtful, calculating expression, as if seeing Jaran for the first time.

At length, Zhar continued. "It seems as though you have completed your task. Usually we ask all apprentices to allow a master to inspect their newly completed weapon before testing it, but as in so many other things, it appears you have once again been ahead of the curve. May I see your lightsaber, please?"

Jaran eyed the master's outstretched hand, suddenly reluctant to give up possession of the weapon – it was like giving up possession of a hand, or another, equally important part of his body.

Shaking his head slightly at himself for his overactive imagination and fanciful thoughts, Jaran extended his hand to his Master, dropping to newly-completed weapon in the Twi'lek's outstretched palm.

The lightsaber in his hands, Zhar's eyes seemed to widen in disbelief as he took in the sight of the end result of Jaran's labor. But the moment Jaran sensed his surprise, his aura once again returned to the calm, controlled Jedi Master as he turned the handle over and over in his hands, inspecting the workmanship and design of the lightsaber, all the while muttering to himself over the weapon he inspected.

"Where is the access panel, Jaran?" he asked.

"I designed it to be opened only by the Force, to prevent tampering," Jaran responded. "You open it up by depressing a catch inside the hilt, here."

At Jaran's quick manipulation, the access panel detached itself from the rest of the hilt, allowing Zhar to pull it aside, revealing the interior workings of the lightsaber to the Master's inspection.

"Very good, young apprentice," he finally responded, nodding with approval and fastening the access panel once again to the lightsaber hilt. "I do have one question, though. It seems like this lightsaber hilt is much shorter than a standard hilt would be. Why is that?"

Jaran shrugged. "As you are aware, Master, I am used to wielding two vibroblades at the same time, and thought I would do the same with lightsabers. I find I am much more comfortable with a shorter hilt as it allows me much greater range of motion."

"And what if you lost one of your lightsabers and had to rely on one? You may find yourself at a disadvantage, not being able to grip your blade with both hands."

"That is true, master," Jaran responded evenly. "But if I slide my hand up the hilt like so," he continued, demonstrating and placing his left below the right, "I still have enough room to place my left hand on the hilt when necessary. And if I may be so bold, I have rarely been disarmed of one of my blades in a fight. It may sound overly arrogant, but I don't expect to be separated from either one very often, and I'm confident in my ability to fight one-handed if necessary."

Zhar studied Jaran's face intently, causing Jaran a moment of concern over the Master's continued challenging of his weapon. After all – he had the ability to reject Jaran's work as inappropriate and send him back to create another if he wanted to. Even deeper than that, Jaran had expected there to be questions regarding his intent to dual wield; he had not, however, expected Master Zhar to object this strenuously – because he was certain this was about his dual wielding, rather than the craftsmanship or design.

A moment later, the master confirmed his supposition. "You are aware dual wielding is not recommended? Lightsabers are different than vibroblades – you could end up cutting yourself or worse, if you aren't careful."

"I understand, Master, but I think my little display with Bastila should put to rest my ability to use two."

"Still—"

"With all due respect, Master," Jaran interrupted, "are two lightsabers prohibited by the code?"

Looking unhappy with the question, Zhar nevertheless shook his head. "As you well know, it is not prohibited. It _is _discouraged, not only due to the difficulty, but also due to the nature of wielding two weapons – it is a much more aggressive style, and as a necessity, begets a more aggressive Jedi."

"I understand, sir," Jaran responded, truly knowing what the Master was saying, but knowing if he did not take a stand now, the Jedi Masters would consider him another of their recruits who could be molded into their vision of a perfect Jedi. He was not some young boy taken by the Jedi as a child – he was a seasoned fighter with more than a half decade's experience and as such, would demand they treat him in that fashion.

"I have been using two vibroblades for years and would feel uncomfortable to go back to one weapon. Also, I think it's fairly evident that this war with the Sith will not be won around the table of diplomacy – the times call for a slightly more aggressive approach. Since I will be on the front lines, I reserve the right to approach it in my own way, although I will certainly uphold the Jedi ideals and strive to always follow the guidance of the Force. Beyond that, I believe my fighting style to be my own business, Master."

A murmur of protest met Jaran's calm, yet forceful declaration. Surreptitiously glancing at the gathering, Jaran noticed the dark looks on the faces of many of the students and teachers, presumably for the manner in which he was challenging the training Master, yet equally, he sensed, for their devotion to the code. And yet, under it all, there seemed to be a whisper of general agreement for his position. They were not all necessarily happy with him, yet they did not seem to be totally against him – perhaps he should have responded in a softer manner. Yet, he had wanted to make his position clear and concise to Zhar – and by extension the entire council – hoping to avoid a repeat confrontation later.

At length, Zhar sighed and nodded his approval. "As much as we would like to believe everyone is deserving of redemption, I understand your point. You have my approval to continue as you have before. How were you planning to create a second lightsaber?"

"Thank you for your support, Master. I had hoped the order would allow me to construct another, but if not, I would have purchased the supplies and made it myself."

"Very well – you may construct another lightsaber," Zhar responded with a smile. "You may wish to make it quickly, as the time where you will need it approaches quickly."

He handed the saber back to Jaran and slapped him on the back. "Very well done, apprentice – your construction of the weapon shows your mastery and skill. You have only one more task to be completed to be admitted to the order as a Padawan. I will discuss this with the council – we will summon you when it is time to complete your final task."

The master acknowledged Jaran's acquiescence, then exited the room, allowing the assembled onlookers to resume their previous activities. All around him, Jaran could hear murmurs as the apprentices and Padawans shuffled away in their own groups, glances furtively directed in his attention showing their wariness, not to mention a certain grudging respect.

Levitated the practice saber back to its place on the table by the wall and hooked his own blade to his belt, Jaran glanced at Bastila taking in her thoughtful, slightly troubled look directed back at him. Jaran was certain she was not precisely happy with the way he had challenged Master Zhar, but for the time being she seemed willing to let it pass in favor of a certain harmony between them.

"So, what can you tell me about this third task?"

Bastila shook her head and began walking from the dueling hall. "Not much, Jaran. It is different for everyone, depending on situation, skill level and a person's own personality. Whatever it is, the council will let you know soon enough."

Nearly laughing out loud, Jaran reflected on how he had come to expect indirect answers to his questions. It was a talent she possessed in the highest degree.

"You find this amusing?" she questioned, her perceptive gaze piercing right through him.

"I suppose I should get used to the vague responses. You'll make a great Jedi Master one of these days – you already have the art of answering cryptically down pat."

She glanced sidelong at him, her eyes registering disapproval at his teasing, causing him to laugh in greater earnest.

"Come on, Bastila," he said, before she could interrupt with a typically scathing retort, "let's go and get some dinner. Fighting for my life with you has made me hungry."

Although she shook her head, Bastila continued down the hallway to the enclave's large communal cafeteria.

They had walked for several moments, before Jaran's curiosity got the better of him. "So what was your third task?"

Bastila glanced at him and shook her head. "Maybe some day I'll tell you."

It was no less than he expected, Jaran reflected, ruefully.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Another chapter, once again a lot slower than I had wanted it to be. I will try to do better in the future, although I certainly don't promise anything--too much going on. Again, the story is not being beta read at this time, so any mistakes are my own.

For anyone who is looking for the next chapter of _Alternate Endeavors_, I am working on it, but I wanted to get this out first. I hope to have it completed by the end of the week.

* * *

**Chapter 12 – A Jedi's Path**

"First it was his lightsaber, now his insistence on dual wielding. What does this man have to do to convince you all he is dangerous?"

The other members of the council each shook their heads in exasperation—Vrook was an excellent Jedi, possessed of the highest moral standards and a powerful command of the Force, but he did tend to be single-minded at times, much like a maalraas with its prey caught between its jaws.

"We have debated this at length, Master Vrook," replied Vandar, his ever patient tones soothing to the four gathered masters. "There is no reason to debate this further—the council has spoken."

"But the council did not decide to train him," Vrook spat in response. "We, in our arrogance, have chosen this gamble on behalf of the council, a decision which may have disastrous results and cause the extinction of all we hold dear. And for what? A chance that history will not repeat itself? Have we learned nothing? We jeopardize the order, the galaxy—our very way of life with this poorly thought out plan we have cooked up. We have no idea of what this… this _maverick_ is capable, even if we are able to keep him under some semblance of control. Giving him these skills is tantamount to a betrayal of our very way of life—he could ruin everything!"

"Hold your peace, Master Vrook!" Vandar commanded, his voice rising in a tone which he rarely used. "Continuing to harp over our decision is not conducive to maintaining the peace and harmony of the Force, and it will certainly not help us in our situation. You know, as well as I, that we have been empowered by the rest of the council to take whatever actions we deem necessary. Remember the code and keep your peace."

Vrook looked as though he wanted to continue with his diatribe, but though his face was the red of heightened emotions, he managed to hold his tongue—unwillingly it appeared.

The silence following Vandar's outburst was momentary, as he turned his attention to Zhar, the instigator of their current disagreements. "Master Zhar, you are certain of your intelligence?"

"Yes, Master Vandar. I held his lightsaber in my own hands—it was an exact replica in every particular. I was so shocked, I nearly dropped it."

"Did Jaran notice?"

Zhar looked amused at the question. "Jaran is not the type to miss anything, Vandar. I covered it up quickly, but I have no doubt he noticed. I can't say what he thought, though—I distracted him immediately. He is extremely talented and the weapon was of the highest workmanship, not that I would have expected anything different."

"And did you notice anything changed about young Jaran?"

"He was the same as he has ever been, since arriving." Zhar leaned back in his chair and considered his next words. "I confess I do not know what our works here have wrought, but I can tell you this—I sense no darkness in young Jaran."

"I concur," Dorak spoke up. "He has been a pleasure to teach and listen to. His methods are at times slightly unorthodox," he nodded to Zhar, "but as Master Zhar has stated, nothing I wouldn't have expected."

"But masters, what happens when he leaves here to go out in the galaxy?" Vrook attempted, his words and manner worried and agitated. "You know what he will face, what temptations will fall his way. It may also be as you say, but when he is truly confronted with the face of evil, will he be able to reject it?"

Vandar gazed at Vrook, once again exasperated by the recalcitrant master's inability to give way. "The Pazaak hand has been dealt, Vrook. There is no further reason to continue on this vein. He will have young Bastila with him to keep him on the true path of the Jedi—she continues to grow in both wisdom and skill, and will complement him well."

Once again Vrook appeared to want to disagree, but he wearily passed his hand over his eyes, and held the other out in a gesture of peace. "In that case, we must ensure Bastila is prepared for every eventuality. It will be up to her to show him the true path and to adhere to the code so that he follows in suit."

"I agree, Master Vrook," Vandar replied, his manner once again the calm, serene Jedi master.

"So what is our next move?" asked Dorak.

"His final task will be an excellent indicator of his progression, and will reclaim one of our own, if he is successful. But ultimately, what he and young Bastila find in the ruins will determine our next moves."

"Are we sure of this task?" Dorak once again questioned, his own unease a match for that Vrook had been showing during the entire meeting.

Zhar nodded his head with decisiveness. "I have every confidence in Jaran's ability to succeed."

"In that case, I suggest we adjourn," Vandar responded, rising to his feet. "The morning will soon be upon us."

* * *

Could the instructions be any more ambiguous?

A frustrated Jaran loped through the Dantooine countryside, muttering curses under his breath at the vagueness of Jedi instructions. What had seemed like a bit of a joke before when he had teased Bastila for her ability to respond to questions in a roundabout manner as befitting a true Jedi, in reality, was slightly more frustrating.

The third task he had to complete in order to truly become a member of the Jedi order as a Padawan had been explained to him in cryptic terms, with no directions beyond, "cleanse the grove of the taint of the dark side". When questioned, Master Zhar, who he had come to respect immensely, and expected to speak more directly than other Jedi, had merely answered there were some places, even on an idyllic haven such as Dantooine, which carried the taint of the dark side. All he had been able to determine from the Master's words, was that the tainting of the grove was a recent occurrence which had enflamed the kath hound population, making them more aggressive than normal, worrying the local settlers, and rendering the grove unsuitable for the use of the Jedi. Other than that, he would have to discover the reason for himself and decide on the proper course to cleanse it of the taint.

"I can say no more; some things you must see for yourself," he spat derisively, mimicking Zhar's calm and reasonable voice. It was petulant, Jaran knew, but at the moment, Jedi prevarication was annoying in the extreme, prompting his tolerant feelings to disappear like mist under the Tatooine suns.

Spying a small pack of kath hounds, Jaran altered his course slightly, attempting to skirt their notice and avoid a confrontation, all the while, his mind worrying away at the problem, gnawing at the unknown. On the one hand, he understood the Jedi reticence, given the need for each of the order's members to learn to act in a rational and decisive manner, without relying on anyone but themselves. After all, being a Jedi was largely solitary employment.

However, a part of him longed for the days when he had been in the Republic Special Forces, when his orders had been clear and concise on every mission—there had been no ambiguity or secrecy involved when the need to accomplish the mission depended on having the most accurate information available. At that moment, "travel into the ancient grove, kill the ten Sith bastards who have taken residence, return, and report", held a certain attraction, given the less than satisfactory orders which had taken their place.

At least from Bastila, he had had time to get used to her mannerisms, and although she was quickly finding the path of true Jedi mysteriousness, even she was not close to the true masters in the art of making cryptic statements.

Which brought him to his next point—Bastila's little… interview… with him this morning. She had left him unsettled and uncertain, a feeling with which the ever-confident Jaran was not familiar. Even further, it had highlighted something of which he had not thought, again, a situation which was slightly unnerving to the usually meticulous soldier.

* * *

A tapping at his door, interrupted Jaran's final preparations. Today was the day of his third test—he would finally become a Jedi today, and was somewhat conflicted at the thought. On the one hand, he had become used to the idea, and moreover, had come to agree with Bastila's assessment that he would be able to do the most for the galaxy as a Jedi. However, on a personal level, he was becoming even more aware of the vast chasm the difference of his opinions from official Jedi dogma, distanced him from the remainder of the order. As he had told his female companion a few days before, he doubted he would ever be able to bridge the gap, which begged the question of what he would do once Malak was defeated. And until then, he was starting to become aware of the fact he was doing Bastila no favors by openly questioning the tenets of the Jedi Order—she was dedicated and committed, and challenging her beliefs was not exactly productive.

The knocking sounded once again, this time more insistently. Regaining his focus, Jaran called out permission to enter. The door slid aside and in walked the subject of his ruminations.

A cheeky grin and jaunty greeting died in their infancy when he saw the look of concern on her face—she was clearly tremendously worried about something, and she eyed him warily as she strode into the room.

"Bastila," he greeted, his manner and voice sober to match hers.

She nodded to him, turned and surveyed the room. "So, you are ready now for your final test?" she asked, in her cultured, soft tones.

"I think so. It's a little difficult to prepare when you have no idea what is coming, but I suppose the training is structured to prepare you for anything."

His offhand comment drew a piercing look from the ever intense Bastila. He shrugged and grinned at her, trying to inject a little levity in the situation, an effort which it appeared went unnoticed, or unappreciated, by his companion. She turned and made some show of inspecting his quarters, allowing him to study her. She was her ever possessed self this morning, presenting her typical Jedi calm which at times so infuriated her, but beyond her outward manner, he sensed she was unsettled, both through his observations, but also through the bond, which was still developing and deepening, much to Bastila's chagrin, he suspected.

Turning once again, she looked at him, her expression still troubled to his insider's eye.

"Well, Bastila? Did you have something you wanted to ask?"

The surprise on her face was quickly masked. "I should have known—the bond makes it difficult to hide anything from one another." She sighed in exasperation. "I guess I'm still not completely used to it."

"Well, the bond did help," Jaran drawled, once again trying to lighten his companion up slightly. "But the fact that your face is scrunched up like a kinrath pup was a dead giveaway, even without the bond."

He could tell immediately he was in trouble, prompting him in turn to consider why he had made the cheeky comment in the first place. Something about his sober and staid companion brought out his mischievous nature, which he was not always able to control.

"A kinrath pup?" she sputtered, fixing him with a deathly glare. "Certainly not!"

"It does from where I'm standing," he responded, trying to maintain the levity with a smirk.

Hands on hips, Bastila regarded him, her manner cold, her eyes turned the familiar cyan as was her wont when she was angry. "Jaran, sometimes I swear you are incapable of being serious. Do you really enjoy exasperating me that much?"

Jaran was certain his eyes were twinkling as his companion rolled her eyes in response to his less than sober grin in response. Regardless of his lack of control where baiting her was concerned, she could really stand to let up on the constant seriousness.

"Bastila," he responded gently, "I don't purposely set out to annoy you. Well… maybe a little," he amended, noting her huff in response. "I'm sorry, but I really believe you could lighten up a little—life is not all seriousness and life and death situations. You need to live a little."

"Jaran," she began with exaggerated patience, "I think _you_ have a tendency to take this entire situation far too lightly. Jaran, being a Jedi is a _very_ serious undertaking and for you to remain true to the light, you must treat it with the proper respect and sincerity. Anything else and you run the risk of the dark side and endanger us all!"

"And I'm telling you, Bastila, I _do not_ work that way!" Jaran shot back, wondering how this had become an argument. "If I tried to model myself after most of the Jedi I've seen in this place, I'd force myself to the dark side, more quickly than Malak's itchy finger pulls the trigger. I'm telling you, I am not a person who can be sober and staid all of the time—I need the release of tension a little levity provides. But I assure you—I can be serious when the situation demands."

Her eyes boring into him, Bastila huffed again before allowing her shoulders to relax slightly. "I suppose we all have our own ways of releasing anxiety," Bastila allowed. "Please, Jaran, I need you to be a little more focused around me, especially when you know I have something I wish to speak to you about."

"I understand," Jaran said with a nod, allowing a smile to show on his face. "Perhaps we can both attempt to meet in the middle—my levity to your seriousness. Between the two of us, maybe we could come up with a balance."

Smiling tentatively in response, Bastila nodded her head in agreement to his suggestion.

"Now, if we've finished sniping at one another, I believe you had something you wanted to ask me?"

A blush appeared on her face and a slight sense of nervousness bloomed through the bond, a sensation he generally attributed to Bastila having something to say, which she was afraid would anger him.

"I do have something I wish to speak with you about," she began somewhat hesitantly. "But Jaran, I want you to understand I'm not judging you or questioning _your_ judgment. But I do have something to discuss which is… it's a part of that… seriousness you mentioned earlier."

Nodding soberly, he took her arm and led her to a couple of chairs. Making certain she was seated comfortably Jaran moved his own chair until he was facing her, reached out and held her hand, showing her she had his full attention.

"Go ahead, Bastila—I'll listen and I promise I won't get angry. After your serious moment, perhaps we could have a light moment. It's only fair, after all."

This last was said with a slight grin, to which Bastila responded with a small smile of her own, along with a rolling of her eyes. "I suppose that would be acceptable."

His grin widening, Jaran motioned for her to continue.

She collected herself and fixed him with an apologetic smile, before drawing a deep breath. "Jaran, I wanted to speak to you further about your decision to dual wield."

Mindful of his promise to consider what she had to say and not lose his temper, Jaran motioned for her to continue.

Visibly relieved, Bastila favored him with a brilliant smile before continuing. "I understand your decision is final and I that you have perfectly valid reasons for pursuing that path, but I wanted to discuss it with you with the appropriate measure of gravity, which it deserves."

Jaran fixed his gaze upon her, willing her to recognize his seriousness. "Yes, I know it is considered a more aggressive style of fighting, Bastila, but it is not wholly unknown. After all, Master Kavar, who is considered one of the foremost Jedi—and the foremost weapons master—in the order, dual wields his lightsabers, yet he is not looked upon with suspicion or shunned."

"No, Jaran, he is not. But you also must remember that Master Kavar has been a member of the Jedi Order since he was a young child, and has built up his reputation through years of faithful service and adherence to the code. As a relative newcomer, one who did not even join the order until his mid-twenties, surely you must see that the situation is different for you."

"Yes, I agree with you, that my situation is different. However, I'm not particularly concerned with what others think—of course I will continue to uphold Jedi ideals and adhere to the code, but I am not in this to please anyone. I have a job to do, which I will do, regardless of the opinions of others. This is the best way to accomplish it—I have done this my entire fighting life, Bastila. I know what I am about."

Bastila studied him momentarily, before nodding. "You are focused on yourself and your own goals, which is as it should be. I suppose I simply wish you to understand that the path which you have chosen for yourself is fraught with danger, and you must be in careful control of your emotions. I know Master Zhar has impressed upon you these thoughts, but I want to ensure you understand them."

Her words made sense, and Jaran, although he was not as wary of his good emotions as Bastila or any other Jedi, still understood the necessity of keeping himself under good regulation at all times. Still, he could tell—could sense—there was something else she was not telling him—something else which made this situation even more troubling for her than it would normally be. She was earnest, and as uptight as anyone he had ever met (he nearly laughed aloud at the thought that a lot of his old Special Forces buddies would likely have compared her to the southern end of a north-facing ronto), but for all that, he had never known her to be afraid of anything. Now, he could sense a small, underlying fear in her emotions and her manner, something which warned him to take her words very seriously.

"Bastila, please don't be afraid to speak your mind; I know there is something else bothering you. What is it?"

She peered at him intently before sighing and glancing down at their still-joined hands. "You really haven't made the connection, have you?"

Confused, Jaran raised an eyebrow.

"Jaran, have you not considered that now that we are joined in this bond, we are inextricably linked?"

Jaran blinked in response—he knew this intellectually, but he had never considered the implications of the situation, many of which had entered his mind at the speed of light.

"We are joined, our destinies intertwined by this bond—whether or not we would have chosen it, there it is. There is nothing either of us can to do change the situation in which we find ourselves. What I do affects you, and conversely, what you do…" she paused and took a deep breath, "also affects me."

So this was the crux of her fear—the thought that his actions, his aggressiveness, particularly in light of his determination to build a second lightsaber, would affect her in a negative manner. She had striven her entire life to adhere to her ideals and fight for what she believed in—the possibility that it could all be unraveled by someone else's actions, must be unnerving at best.

Suddenly it was no longer a jesting matter; Jaran sobered immediately.

"Bastila, I promise you, I would never—will never—do anything to hurt you."

She peered into his eyes, gauging the sincerity of his words, and he felt a tendril of her consciousness drill into his own, seeking assurance through their mutual bond. Whatever she saw there, must have convinced her of his sincerity, as she smiled and glanced down as a slight blush appeared on her face.

"I believe you truly mean what you say. It is not always easy—or even possible—to keep such promises in the heat of battle or the emotion of the moment."

"No, it isn't," Jaran agreed, think hard about her words, and her feelings which he could sense through their bond. "Perhaps, though, we should focus on the positive aspects of this."

At her questioning glance he continued. "While we certainly can affect each other negatively, we can also affect each other in the opposite manner. We can assist one another, motivate one another, and help each other to remain strong."

She grew pensive for a moment as she considered his words, raw emotions playing across her face. She was still young and had a definite tendency to approach things in a slightly negative manner, a habit ingrained from years of warnings about the dark side and the dangers of giving in to her emotions, he thought. If nothing else, he wanted to help her to understand and acknowledge that there were positives to be had in every situation—not everything was the doom and gloom of the dark side.

At length she smiled again at her companion. "And this is what I think I require from you—your sense of the positive is astounding, Jaran, and I think I can learn much from that attitude. You are a good man, Jaran—even when I question you, or force you to be serious, please don't ever think I believe any differently."

"Thank you, Bastila. It means a lot, coming from you."

Once again, a hint of a blush appeared on Bastila's cheeks and she ducked her head in embarrassment, causing Jaran no end of amusement. She pulled her hand from Jaran's grasp and glanced up at him again, her face displaying the hint of a mischievous smile.

"So, I believe you wanted to have a bit of a light moment now?"

Jaran threw back his head and roared in laughter. Bastila could be rigid and overly critical, but when she allowed herself to relax, he found that he truly enjoyed her company and genuinely looked forward to the times they could interact.

"I suppose I did ask for it, didn't I?" he said as his mirth subsided to chuckles. "I must admit, I didn't think far enough ahead—I'm not certain I have anything with which to entertain you."

"What, the great Jaran, comedian extraordinaire does not have an amusing anecdote with which to lighten the mood?" she responded playfully. "Incredible!"

"I guess I deserved that," he conceded, far from being offended by her words. "I do have one question which I was meaning to ask you."

At her motion he continued. "I was just wondering, why do you wear your hair in ponytails all the time?"

Bastila regarded him momentarily before answering with a shrug. "They're neat and they keep my hair from distracting me when I am using my lightsaber."

"I know that, Bastila. But you wear them all the time, even when you are not expecting any action and I was wondering why. They are utilitarian, but they don't do a lot for your appearance."

Bastila's eyes became slightly frosty. "Jaran, I'm a Jedi. I'm not out to win any beauty pageants, and quite frankly, I have much better things to do with my time than being concerned with my looks."

Jaran shook his head, amused at her conceit, which produced an even colder expression. "Bastila, I don't care what the Jedi order tells you about what you should and shouldn't do. You are a very beautiful woman, and taking pride in your appearance is not against the Jedi code."

"Perhaps not," Bastila replied at length, after fixing him with an unreadable look. For once, he was not able to sense her through the bond, as she had closed the connection completely, more by instinct than any conscious thought, he suspected. "However, excessive attention to trivial matters such as a fashionable hair style would be frowned upon."

"You're probably right. But then again, I wasn't suggesting you spend hours working on it. I merely pointed out the ponytails look a little severe. You would look much better if you wore your hair down."

"Maybe so," Bastila replied with a shrug. "Perhaps I'll give it some thought—after all, it would certainly be easier to allow it to hang loose. But I'm not doing it to 'improve my appearance'."

"Of course not," Jaran replied with an exaggerated air of disbelief, causing her to wrinkle her nose in response.

* * *

Now, hours after having received the instructions for his third test, Jaran still could hardly believe he had managed to miss the significance of their connection. It was not like him to miss such obvious and potentially important details—his life in the Special Forces depended on him not only being extremely observant, but also that he consider every angle completely, albeit often, by necessity, very quickly. That he had failed to see something so obvious as this was troubling and irritating to Jaran.

But even more than his disgust at himself for not understanding the consequences of this bond, Jaran was concerned—concerned for Bastila. There was real danger here, Jaran knew, danger that he himself brought to the bond. Jaran was under no illusions about himself—he knew he was jaded by his time in the Special Forces. For almost the entirety of his adult life, he had fought in a series of engagements, spanning two wars, had seen the horrors of war and the worst of sentient beings, and when he had not been fighting, he had worked for those who were less than honest and had dealt with the dregs of society. He had fought for the Republic, giving everything to his service, doing his best to defeat the predations of first the Mandalorians, and then of the Jedi traitors. However, the fact that all he had done, had been done in the service of the galaxy was cold comfort when he recalled some of the specific events, missions and battles which had occurred in the course of that service. And make no mistake—he had done some horrific things, killed sentient beings with no quarter and no thought of remorse. Although he'd never enjoyed, or gotten a sick sense of pleasure from it (unlike a certain Sith Lord he could name), he still had everything he had done on his conscience, necessary or not.

Enter Bastila, and things changed dramatically. Bastila was not an innocent, having fought in several engagements herself, nor was she completely sheltered, but compared to him she was a mere babe in arms. Great care would have to be taken, not only in his actions, but also his thoughts and emotions. They had not started off on the best foot with each other, but Jaran knew he had become very close to the young Jedi and was starting to feel very protective of her. He would not be the means of driving her to the dark side, not if it was in his power to prevent it.

It was with thoughts like this, Jaran made his way through the Dantooine countryside, dodging roving kath hound packs while keeping an eye out for the Mandalorian raiders he knew could still be in the area.

At length, Jaran slowed his pace and became more cautious in his approach, sensing his destination lay ahead. It was not a grove, as he would have described it—rather than trees and heavy undergrowth (both of which were rather sparse in that area of Dantooine), the area was set up against a cliff face, with large rock formations, monoliths jutting up towards the sky, dotting the landscape. The location was serenity personified, and he instantly understood why the Jedi would value such a location as a place of peace and meditation.

At least, he would have if not for the faint hint of the dark side which hung over the massive stones, almost like the faint scent of rot, hanging over newly spoiled meat. Slowing cautiously, Jaran checked to make certain his lightsaber was at hand, regretting he had not yet had the time to construct his second.

As he approached, Jaran slowed even further, casting about for the source of the dark side. He was reminded of the sensation he had felt on the Endar Spire with Trask, but noted the subtle differences between the two, almost like different shades of the same color. He had never given it any thought before, as he had not truly been aware of what the Force had been telling him at the time, but now, looking back on his confrontation with the Sith on the capital ship, he knew that he had felt an evil—a cold, emotionless, implacable evil, insidious in its subtlety and ruthless in its goals.

By contrast, what he was feeling here had the very appearance of darkness and evil, but it was different. For one thing, the darkness in the grove felt new, as if the evil had not been there long enough to take hold. It was also unfocussed, seeming directionless and aimless—a stain on the tranquility of the place of meditation, but without any conscious purpose. It was new versus old, the ancient versus the newborn, the actively malevolent versus the passively unpleasant. Instinctively, Jaran knew that to face this situation as he had on the Spire, to attack without any thought toward the consequences was to make a grave mistake. Greater care must be taken.

Wary of what exactly he might encounter, Jaran removed his lightsaber from his belt and eased his way around one of the large stone formations. The sun was bright in the afternoon sky and fortunately behind him, as he cast his gaze over the grounds of the Jedi grove. The heavy Dantooine grass was high—nearly to his mid thigh—and gently undulating in the wind, giving him a place of concealment should he need it.

Rounding the stone formations, he gazed out at the area behind the massive rocks, seeing a gently descending slope toward what he knew must be the center of the grove. At the bottom of the small depression stood what he could only describe as the ruins of a small temple, or other building, windswept and eroded. The pieces still recognizable consisted as several massive flagstones, surrounded by several pillars, all of which were as weathered and old as the rest, some straight, while others listed at various angles, or collapsed in piles of rubble, equally battered and worn. Surrounding the structure lay other large pieces of the structure, parts which had not withstood the time and elements as well and fallen jumbled about the depression, some almost buried by the dust and dirt of the planet.

Immediately, his attention was arrested by the sight of a figure kneeling, head bowed down, hands clasped together in supplication. A quick glance around the area revealed no one else, and while he could not completely rule out the possibility of concealed figures, he could detect no one, with his Jedi senses or other. It seemed as if the figure was alone.

Cautiously, he approached, his hand fingering his weapon, ready for any hostile intentions from the supplicant. As he moved closer, the form became more distinct, and he realized he was looking at the form of a young Cathar—a sentient species of feline-like humanoids, now almost extinct due to a genocidal attack by Mandalorian forces led by one Cassus Fett. They were rumored to have been fierce warriors, strong and honorable, before their fall. Whoever she was, and however she arrived here, though, Jaran could tell as he approached that she was very young. She wore a Jedi bodysuit, much like Jaran had seen others, including Bastila, wearing, and her dark, swarthy skin was set in sharp contrast to the topknot on the top of her head. Although it was behind her and hidden from his view, Jaran suspected the tail of her hair reached halfway down her back or more.

Her Force sense was confused and conflicted. It was obvious that the source of the darkness and the kath hounds' distress knelt in front of him, but what was also obvious was that the darkness was not yet established—it was new and conflicted, not at all confident in its path and its purpose. It was important information, Jaran thought, regardless of what was to follow.

He had approached to within no more than thirty meters, when the Cathar's eyes suddenly snapped open, and he found a pair of cat's slits staring back at him. He blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sudden movement, and hesitated for a moment, before suddenly springing to life as the Cathar ignited her lightsaber, and with a chilling war cry launched herself at Jaran with murder in her eyes.

Snapping his blade to life, Jaran stepped under her assault and forcing it to the side, stretched out his arm and hit her with a blast of the Force, throwing her back several meters. The respite lasted for only a moment though, as the warrior immediately recovered and attacked him again, rushing forward and engaging him with powerful strokes from her lightsaber.

Jaran analyzed her skill as he defended himself, realizing she was quick and strong, possessed of ferocity and skill. Her technique seemed to be a little ragged, but this was more than made up by her vicious assault. Knowing instinctively the easiest way to complete the council's challenge would be the wrong way, and knowing he really had nothing against this young soldier and had no wish to kill her, Jaran determined to attempt to reason with her. However, he knew her blood lust would make it difficult, if not impossible, to get through to her without first neutralizing her.

Switching abruptly to the offensive, Jaran surged forward and forced her back, hooking her leg with his own, dropping her in a heap on the flagstones of the ancient temple. She regained her feet quickly, but not before Jaran stepped forward and pummeled the palm of his hand against the middle of her chest. Her breath left her in a rush and she fell back to the ground, coughing and attempting to catch her breath in large gulping gasps. Her lightsaber he summoned from her hand, ripping it out from her grasp, prompting her eyes to widen, and then narrow at him in anger.

Regaining her breath, she stood once again and regarded him warily, her eyes darting to her lightsaber which was held loosely in his left hand. When she finally spoke, her voice was heavily accented, and although he had never conversed with a Cathar before, he knew it must be indicative of their species.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Why have you interrupted my solitude?"

Regarding her warily, sensing she had not been defeated, Jaran secured the lightsaber to his belt. "I could ask you the same."

"I am Juhani," she stated with pride. "This is my grove. I suggest you run away, little Jedi, before you are overwhelmed with my dark power."

Jaran snorted. "I suppose the fact that your lightsaber is attached to my belt means nothing to you then?"

Her face flushed with anger, but she held her temper admirably, for one he could tell was filled with rage. Her cold eyes swept over him disdainfully and she snarled at him. "Why have you invaded this place? It is mine! I claimed when I embraced the dark side. You have no business here, interloper."

"Why did you embrace the dark side?" Jaran asked.

A haughty, arrogant expression appeared on her face. "I slew my Master, Quatra, in single combat—she goaded me, pushed me to anger, all the while holding me back, jealous of my power. I repaid her with her life. When she lay dead at my feet, I knew I could never go back. I came here to claim this grove for the glory of the dark side, defying the Jedi to come and take it back from me. Until you, none had dared to do so."

This was something that Jaran had not yet heard. Although he could not claim to be friends with many in the enclave, he thought he would have known if a master had died at a Padawan's hands. In fact, to the best of his knowledge, he had never seen her at the enclave and wondered if her story was false, or if there was some reason why she had not been there. Perhaps she and her master had arrived recently?

"I haven't heard of a master dying in the enclave. When did this happen?"

She ignored the question. "And why should you have? My former master and I were in seclusion, living off the land away from the enclave while she trained me in the ways of the Jedi. It turns out that she did not have as much to teach me as she thought."

This last was said with an arrogant sneer, which Jaran returned in full measure. "Yet, you find yourself at _my _mercy, and I once again direct your attention to your lightsaber hanging from my belt. Perhaps your dark side was not as strong as you had hoped."

She seemed to sag inwards as the truth of Jaran's words sunk in. He felt almost sorry for her, but understood that whatever she had told herself and whatever she had done, she was no more on the path to her destiny in the dark side than he was. The trick was to help her understand it for herself.

She sighed and turned back to the ruined temple, her shoulders bowed in dejection. "What do you want? Why have you disturbed me?"

"The council," Jaran responded. "I was sent to determine the source of the taint and to cleanse it. The kath hounds are in a frenzy due to your actions."

She turned and glared at him. "Well, if the council has sent you to kill me, why do you not get on with it? You seem to have bested me easily—surely for a mighty warrior such as yourself, my death should be easily accomplished."

"Do you want me to kill you?" The question was blunt, but Jaran felt sugar-coating his words would do more harm than good. She seemed a fairly direct sort of person, one who would not respond well to circular arguments and prevarications.

"Isn't that what you were sent to do?" she snarled turning to face him. "The only way you can cleanse this grove is by killing me. I can never return!"

"Can you not? Why not?"

The question clearly took her aback and she retreated with confusion evident on her face. She regarded him for several moments before turning and slumping down on the broken form of a rock. "How can I ever return? I _killed_ my master! I killed her in a fit anger and hate! Is that not the very definition of the dark side?"

"Juhani, I don't know what happened, or why you acted the way you did, but although I have been a Jedi for a short time, I can tell you that the Jedi to not kill needlessly, and they do not believe in execution. Forgiveness is a powerful thing, Juhani, as is justice, mercy and fairness. I cannot tell you what the council will do if you throw yourself on their mercy, but anything has to be better than living a half life as a criminal, scrounging for food and waiting for the masters to deal with you. Is this the life you really wanted?"

Her eyes turned inward for a few moments as she considered his words, allowing Jaran to study her. He knew his earlier instincts had been correct—his mission here to cleanse the grove was much more than the masters had let on and his test was more than simply martial. He would wager everything he owned that regardless of what she thought of her master, there were other circumstances here, circumstances of which she either was not aware, or had neglected to consider. He knew he had been sent to bring her back, not to end her life—the Jedi were fair and he knew that she was powerful in her own right. Beyond the fact that the masters would desire her redemption, the Jedi were in a genocidal struggle against an implacable enemy, and a dead apprentice would be no help in winning the war.

"No, stranger, you are correct—I had not imagined a life such as you describe. I always thought my master was holding me back because she was jealous of my power, but now I wonder if it was only because I was not good enough for them."

"You are very hard on yourself," Jaran commented.

"For good reason," she responded with a shrug. "My actions with my master are proof."

"Would you like to hear another interpretation?"

Her eyes found his and she smiled, a very small and tentative smile, but it was the first he had had from her since they had met. "How can you? You know nothing of the situation."

"That is true," Jaran responded, taking a seat on the ground a few meters away from her. "But I can tell you of _my _mission and let you judge for yourself."

She seemed startled that Jaran had relaxed when they were still technically, to her way of thinking, enemies. However, she ignored the gesture and looked him in the eyes, obviously thinking about it, before motioning for Jaran continue.

"I was sent to cleanse the grove of the taint of the dark side," Jaran began, before a thought arrested him and he chuckled briefly. "Actually, considering my background, you have no idea just how irritating such vague instructions can be."

At her questioning look, Jaran waved her off. "It's a long story—I'm sure you'll hear it at some point. But although the masters told me to cleanse the grove, I was never told to kill the dark Jedi or rogue Padawan who was corrupting it. Now, given what I know about Jedi views regarding the sanctity of life and the ability for all sentient beings to reform, the omission seems to take on new meaning. Wouldn't you agree?"

His words seemed to get through to her and she considered he words, a thoughtful, pensive expression on her face. "So, you believe I should return then?"

"I don't see any other choice," Jaran responded, making the choice as blunt as possible.

Then feeling a hint of mischievousness, Jaran caught her gaze and smirked at her. "Look, the way I see it, you can either voluntarily return to the masters, or I can knock you out and take you." He shrugged. "You are a little heavy for me to be carting all that distance, but I'm sure I'll manage."

He could see her surprise at his words, as she stared at him for several moments. At length, he could see the comprehension dawn in her eyes, likely due to the somewhat roguish expression he allowed on his face. Her mouth turned up in a smile which resembled a grimace, the pointy teeth of her feline heritage gleaming in the sun.

"Pretty confident, aren't you?"

"I think I have a right to be," Jaran responded with a grin, his hand once again gesturing to her lightsaber dangling from his belt.

She seemed to consider his words, all the while looking uncertain and slightly fearful to his eyes.

"Release your anger and your fear, Juhani," he said quietly. "They do you no credit and they impede your progress."

"Do you… but how…" She visibly gathered herself. "How do I know the masters will take me back?"

"You don't," Jaran responded. "But you must do something, and given my short association with them, I think you should give them a chance. There may be other circumstances that you are not aware of. You need this—to improve, to gain understanding… to find peace, Juhani. Otherwise, you will never be able to live with yourself."

"I can see you—can sense you through the Force. Whatever you may be, whatever has led you to this point, I don't see any true darkness in you. You are a Cathar warrior, Juhani—be true to your honor and the honor of your people. Return to the masters and throw yourself on their mercy. I think you may be surprised."

The last of her defiance fled her face and she sagged even further into the rock, and he could tell a great weariness came over her. Sighing with relief, he stood and approached her, placing a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her with the gesture.

"I will do as you suggest," she responded, turning her head to smile up at him. It was a small, timid smile, but it was the first he felt was due to true emotion.

"Good choice. I suggest you speak with Master Vandar first. I think he would be more sympathetic to you than, say, Vrook."

A shudder passed through her and she grimaced in response to the mention of the irascible master—clearly she had either heard of him, or been on the wrong end of one of his infamous lectures.

"Thank you…" She peered up at him oddly. "You have been an immense help to me, and yet, I do not even know your name."

Jaran executed a mocking little bow. "Jaran Kalind, soon to be Jedi Padawan, at your service."

"Thank you, master Kalind," Juhani responded in kind. She glanced around, before fixing her attention back on her companion. "Will you escort me back to the enclave?"

Smiling, Jaran shook his head. "Sorry, Juhani, but I think you will be fine on your own. There is another place in this area of which I have been made aware, and I think I'd like to check it out before I return to the enclave."

"Perhaps I should accompany you?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

"I think it best if you were to return directly to the masters," Jaran responded.

She eyed him for several moments before capitulating with a nod. "Yes, you are likely correct."

She paused for several moments, like she wished to say something further, but at length nodded in his direction and turned to leave. She had gotten no further than fifteen meters, when Jaran called out to her, stopping her progress.

"Juhani!"

She turned and regarded him, a curious expression on her face.

"I think you'll need this."

Her lightsaber exited his hand, flying in a gentle arc, and settled in her outstretched palm.

"The kath hound packs are still dangerous. Have a safe journey."

"You return my lightsaber to me?" she asked, her tone and expression incredulous.

Jaran shrugged. "I think your decisions here warrant its return."

Turning, Jaran loped away, but not before he witnessed a smile of the warmest gratitude suffuse her features.

* * *

It was not long after he left the grove when he became aware of the presence of Bastila, who was approaching him rapidly from behind and to his right. As he recognized her signature through the Force, he realized that she had been at the edge of his consciousness the entire time of his journey to the grove and subsequent confrontation with the prodigal Jedi.

Either that or their bond was becoming stronger than he was yet aware, he reflected ruefully.

Knowing it was pointless to try to elude her (although he was not certain he was ready for her company at this time—their words that morning were still too raw, their import too new for him to have assimilated them fully) he chose a nearby rock and sat, waiting for her to catch up. Besides, where he was going, her presence and assistance would be welcome.

It was only a short time later when she came into his view, approaching him cautiously, as if uncertain of the reception she would receive. Mindful of his promise to himself only a short time earlier, Jaran pushed his still unsettled feelings to the back of his mind and allowed a hesitant smile of greeting to appear on his face. She returned it just as tentatively as it had been offered, and stood before him, searching his face for some indication of his thoughts.

"Hello, Bastila. Keeping tabs on me?" he said in a friendly, slightly teasing tone.

She flushed and lowered her gaze to the ground, seemingly deep in thought, before her beautiful eyes once again sought out his own.

"I'm sorry, Jaran, I was… I had to know…"

Her face red with embarrassment, Bastila again turned her gaze to the ground at her feet, suddenly too bashful to meet his gaze.

Jaran, though, was filled with the measure of her Force sense, and understood what she had been unable to enunciate clearly. Her care and concern shone to him through their bond, and the sincerity of his warmed his heart. Her inability to speak of her feelings was simply a facet of her personality—she truly was a child at times, with respect to the ability to deal properly with others.

Knowing now was not the time for his often light-hearted approach, Jaran stood and approached her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a comforting, friendly hug. She glanced up in his face, her brow furrowed in confusion, before the truth of his own feelings of companionship passed between them. She relaxed, snaking her own arm around his waist and tightening affectionately, before she stepped away.

"You were worried about me."

She nodded her head. "Facing ones fears, a specter of the dark side, a facet of ourselves we would not normally want to face, is never easy. I was concerned, although I suppose I should have known you would face and triumph over your challenge with the ease and security of the Force."

"It's not easy, Bastila," Jaran responded, his voice quiet. "It has never been easy, but it _is_ necessary. I will not fail you."

In that instant, something passed between them—a hint, an echo, a trace of what someday may be, a sign of what already was. For the two young Jedi, it was over in a moment, yet no less poignant for having been brief. It was not fully understood—by either of them—not yet, but the current which flowed between them bound them together even more firmly than before, shaping their destinies and joining them together in bonds stronger than death, more permanent than all the eternities. The feeling was intoxicating.

Staring at Jaran with wide eyes, Bastila took a deep gulping breath, calming herself, forcing her calm rationality to return, and in that instant, Jaran knew he was mimicking her every motion, following her every thought. It was as though they were one being, their hearts connected, their thoughts joined, and their consciousnesses united in one body. Neither had ever experienced such a connection, such harmony with another. If there had been any previous doubt as to the bond's existence, those doubts were now put to rest. There was nothing else to account for this exquisite harmony. It was the Force.

"I believe you," Bastila finally stated, regaining control over her surging emotions and wildly beating heart. "I will do the same for you."

"Thank you, Bastila," Jaran responded, reaching out and giving her hand a slight squeeze. "Together we can do anything."

For several moments they were silent, each contemplating what had just occurred between them, pondering over its significance, assimilating the change in their relationship. The bond had just deepened—significantly, unless Jaran very much missed his guess. The changes would take some time to get used to.

"Where were you going?" Bastila asked, clearly trying to exert some sense of normalcy back into their severely shaken world.

"To the cave at the end of the bluff. One of the homesteaders was telling me the kinrath there are becoming somewhat of a menace, and since that cave is reputed to contain naturally occurring focusing crystals, I thought I would pay it a visit—kill two kinrath with one stone, as it were."

A frown came over her features. "Crystals? Why would you need more crystals? Master Zhar already agreed to supply you with a crystal for your second lightsaber. Why do you need more?"

"I'm not certain," Jaran responded. "I don't _need_ any more crystals, but something tells me the color of this lightsaber," Jaran depressed the switch, causing the beam to extend out from the hilt, "is not quite right."

Bastila raised one elegant eyebrow. "Not quite right? What do you mean?"

"I can't explain it myself. But I thought I'd take a look and see if I can find something new."

"It's a bit of a dangerous location to go searching for crystals on the basis of a feeling, Jaran."

"Don't our feelings guide us?" Jaran asked rhetorically. "Isn't that what accepting the guidance of the Force is?"

"You think the Force is telling you to go looking for crystals."

One did not need to be a genius to detect the skepticism in her voice.

"I know nothing of the sort, Bastila. I'm merely saying that we don't always know the reason we are prompted, we just follow the prompting. And besides, I did say that the kinrath were becoming somewhat of a menace, didn't I?"

"I suppose you did," Bastila responded. Although she did not look happy, or like she had any further understanding of what he was about, she did appear as though she was not about to challenge it any further.

"You're welcome go come along."

She regarded him for several moments before nodding. "I suppose I should—after all, I already know from personal experience just how much trouble you can get into unsupervised."

Smirking at her teasing, Jaran flipped a mocking salute, before standing and leading her toward the cave.

* * *

Three quarters of an hour later, the two young Jedi stood in the dim confines of the cave, having fought their way through a small colony of the insect-like creatures which had swarmed out at them the moment they had sensed the danger to their nests.

Although the mindless creatures were more of a pest than a real challenge, they had been present in sufficient numbers that Jaran was happy for Bastila's presence—what would have given him trouble alone, had been no challenge for two Jedi, linked as he and Bastila had become. It was an indication of their connection and the power they would wield together as their bond matured—they would be a formidable force with which to be reckoned, which he suspected would cause even Malak to think twice about taking them on.

Glancing about with distaste, Bastila said, "We've done what you intended, Jaran, let's find these crystals you spoke of and leave this place."

Jaran nodded absently, peering around in the gloom. There were scores of eggs scattered haphazardly throughout the interior of the cave, eggs, he suspected, which contained the next generation of kinrath to terrorize the homesteaders of Dantooine. They were vile, mindless creatures to be certain, but somehow, Jaran could not bring himself to destroy innocent beasts which had not even drawn their first breaths. No, the complete destruction of the nest would have to fall to someone else—Jaran had fulfilled his promise by removing the adults from the equation. The young kinrath, once they hatched, would take some time before they would cause any trouble.

In the center of the large chamber at the back of the cave, a massive crystalline structure stood, which provided light to the area, refracted, he suspected, from the light of Dantooine's sun, far above their heads. It was much too large, too raw for any piece of it to be used for the purpose he intended.

However, throughout the chamber, small bits, shards of the main structure lay about, some jagged and sharp, yet others, smoothed somewhat by time and the movement of the hordes of kinrath which had once roamed the caves.

Crouching down to get a better look, Jaran searched among the fallen bits for some stones to suit his purpose, finding amidst the myriad of colors, several gems which in the dim light, looked like they would provide what he needed. Scooping up a dozen specimens which fit the description of what he required, he dropped them in his pouch. A moment later, he scooped up many more of all different sizes and colors, an standing, motioned for Bastila to precede him from the cave.

Seeing Bastila regarding him with a quizzical expression, a question seemingly on her tongue, he shrugged and grinned at her. "You never know when they might come in handy."

She smiled brightly at him and reached out to squeeze his hand. "Always thinking, always prepared, aren't you?"

"I try my best," Jaran responded modestly.

She shook her head with amusement. "I think it's time we left."

Jaran glanced back at the column of raw crystal, before moving to follow her already retreating form from the cave. He had done as he promised—as Bastila had said, it was now time to leave.


	13. Chapter 13

**Previously:** The masters discuss Jaran's progress and argue about Jaran's training. Jaran reflects on a conversation with Bastila, where she points out that anything he does can affect her through the bond. Jaran spars with Juhani, convincing her to return to the enclave and let go of her darkness. Jaran and Bastila experience a sudden deepening of their bond. They clear out the kinrath cave, where Jaran collects some crystals.

* * *

**Chapter 13 – Along the Path to Darkness**

If Jaran had expected some reaction to his return to the enclave, the almost reverential and welcome was not it. For a man who had been something akin to a loner for most of his adult life—due in part to the nature of his role in the Republic military, not to mention the fact that he had not wanted to spend any time with the lowlifes which were rife in the smuggling world—this look of awed approval and deferential welcome was not something with which he had a lot of experience.

Word of his actions in the grove must have travelled ahead of him—no doubt related by a reformed and grateful Juhani—and the word that he had affected the return of one of their own had already made its way like wildfire through the denizens of the academy. More than once, Jedi of all ranks had stopped to shake his hand and thank him, and those who did not approach watched him with approval. It was a stark contrast to the barely concealed suspicion and passive hostility which had previously been directed toward him since his arrival on Dantooine.

"You have saved one of their own," was Bastila's simple reply. Though he had not voiced a question, she must have understood, either through the Force, or through her own observation, how perplexed he was by the change in everyone around him.

"But what I did was not something overly heroic or noble," Jaran protested. "The masters themselves may have brought about Juhani's reformation if they had taken the time to do so. Or if they hadn't decided that the situation was perfect to test me…"

Though perhaps he would have expected Bastila to protest against the oblique swipe he had directed at the masters, she ignored it instead. "Perhaps you are correct. But you must remember that you still did perform admirably in your test, where many may have been tempted to simply kill her as a lost cause. Your wisdom and instinctive desire to hold to the light are very impressive."

When Jaran simply mumbled a response—half protestation, and half embarrassment at her praise—Bastila stopped and turned to him. Her expression was serious, but also betrayed a fondness he had never before seen in her countenance. "Jaran, I would urge you not to dismiss this. You must understand that for any Jedi, the lure and temptation of the dark side is an ever-present danger, and one which we all wary of. Juhani had not gone far down that path, I suspect, but you, with your passion and implacable will, saved her from herself, when it would have been easier simply to kill her out of hand. With your prowess, I suspect you could have done it without too much trouble. And yet, you thought through the situation, realized there was more to it than a simple Sith infestation, and listened to her story and the promptings of the Force. The return of any prodigal is to be celebrated, and you should allow your deed to be recognized in the manner in which it should be."

"You should listen to her, Jaran," another voice interrupted their conversation.

Turning, Jaran noticed Belaya standing, observing their conversation with a slight smile on her face. "Bastila only speaks the truth. What you did for Juhani is worthy of great praise, and though you should not bask in your own prowess or goodness, I do not think the masters would think it amiss if you were to allow yourself to take some pleasure in helping to save another."

She stopped for a moment, clearly trying to find a way to express herself. "Juhani and I have always been very close friends," she continued at length. "We were apprentices together and when we were old enough to be chosen by masters, we were apprenticed to masters who often worked together. I consider her a very dear friend and I was almost out of my mind with worry over her state the past few days. I thank you, Jaran, for helping her and returning her to us. It is no small thing to save one from the darkness."

"I am glad I was an acceptable vessel of the Force," said Jaran with a slight bow, realizing that these strong women would not be gainsaid. "I have merely attempted to uphold the tenets of goodness and light. Juhani is a worthy warrior and a good soul, and I am glad I was able to be of some service to her."

Belaya stepped forward and, stretching up, kissed his cheek gently. "You are a good man, Jaran Kalind," she said as she favored him with a smile. "I am glad you have come to us.

"Now," she continued, a little more businesslike, "I believe the council wishes to speak with you. You should make your way to them as soon as you can."

Nodding a little bemusedly in response, Jaran exchanged a look with Bastila, before they bid goodbye to Belaya and continued deeper into the enclave. Clearly this was another facet of Jedi life that perhaps he had not considered before. These were people who had all left their families at a very young age and had given their entire lives over to the service of justice and peace. They were all one tightly knit family of sorts, though they were many and scattered throughout the galaxy, and the loss of one was felt by them all. Jaran could not imagine what they must have felt when Revan and Malak led so many away from the order those years before. It must have left a gaping wound in the collective spirit of the entire Jedi Order.

Outside the entrance to the council chambers, they met Juhani exiting from the presence of the masters. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him and she greeted him with a nod—Cathar were not known for their tactile displays of affection, and he would not have expected a greeting such as that with which Belaya had favored him.

"Jaran Kalind," she said. "I once again extend my thanks for your assistance in helping me see the error of my ways."

"You are very welcome," replied Jaran, remembering Bastila's words from only a short time earlier. "But please give yourself some credit, Juhani: I helped you to see the reason you should return, but it was your own character and fortitude which provided you the means for your own redemption."

"I am grateful for that push," stated the Cathar.

"So, was I correct? Have the masters welcomed you back?"

Juhani ducked her head, a gesture which Jaran knew would have been accompanied by a blush had she been human. "They have. In fact, my former master Quatra has been reprimanded by the council for her methods. She had thought to teach me the dangers of the dark side by provoking me to such a reaction, a stratagem the council deemed excessive. Regardless, I believe I have now learned my lesson."

"That's the important thing," Jaran agreed.

"I admit," the Cathar continued, "that I have also learned the lesson of excessive pride. To think that I thought could have killed my own master with my clumsy flailing! I _did_ injure her, it is true, but not as grievously as I had thought. She has already left the enclave to return to Coruscant and another apprentice."

"To refer to your skills as 'clumsy flailing' is harsh. You are very skilled, Juhani, and I expect you will become a very powerful Jedi."

Juhani nodded her thanks.

"You said 'former master,'" Jaran continued. "Have you been reassigned?"

"I have not," Juhani responded. "I have been allowed to take a little time for myself to once again find my balance in the Force. For the time being, I have not been assigned any duties, though I hope to once again become a productive member of the academy."

"Good for you. I know you will be successful."

A few more moments of speaking, the Padawan excused herself and retreated. Jaran and Bastila shared a look before they entered the council chambers and approached the four members of the Dantooine council. Vandar and Zhar wore matching expressions of welcome and pride, while Dorak, while always more guarded in his expressions, still looked on Jaran with some warmth. Even the irascible Vrook had a look of grudging respect and approval on his face.

"Welcome, Padawan," Zhar stated with his customary friendliness, once Bastila and Jaran stood in front of the council. "Juhani has returned to us and has explained what happened between you. You have passed this final test with your customary flair and competence, and I am very glad to welcome you officially to the Jedi Order."

Jaran thanked him in an understated manner, wary of Master Vrook's admonitions against pride and hubris, and gave his report in a succinct manner. The council was obviously as pleased as was the rest of the enclave, allowing Jaran to feel a sense of accomplishment—he was finally beginning to feel like he fit in.

After their discussion had wound down, and he had been officially welcomed by the rest of the council into the order, talk once again became a little more serious—it was clear to all that much work still had to be done. The road to becoming a Padawan was the simple part of this endeavor; what was to follow would be immeasurably harder.

"Though we would perhaps wish to allow you a few days to assimilate all which as occurred, I believe the time does not exist for such reflection," said Vandar, beginning the inevitable conversation. "Your training is now complete, and the needs of the galaxy must now intrude."

"I understand, Master," Jaran responded. "Reflection can wait until there is time. Unfortunately, Malak is not so gracious as to allow for such indulgences."

Slight smiles met his flippant statement, though Vrook's face remained impassive.

"No, he does not," said Zhar, "which is why we must turn to the matter of this vision which you shared with Bastila. I believe that through your explorations of the area that you have encountered the ruins in which you saw Revan and Malak?"

The ruins in question were no more than a fifteen minute hike from the entrance to the enclave. Jaran had found them within days of taking up residence with the Jedi during one of his early morning runs. Though he had been curious he had not approached; the feeling he had had as he had entered the vicinity had been oddly disconcerting—after the fact, he realized that it was similar in nature to what he had felt upon arriving at Juhani's corrupted grove, though certainly not as strong. The ruins had felt ancient and dark, not to mention alien—a result of some ancient evil the likes of which he had never before encountered.

Once he indicated that he had indeed seen them, Dorak continued. "There are a series of ancient structures on Dantooine, and I believe the one in your dream was the one very close to this enclave. It has been sealed by ancient Jedi for some reason which is not recorded. We had not thought much of these mounds, other than that they appeared to have been simple burial mounds of ancient Sith, or some other such evil. Perhaps we should have paid more attention to them."

"The value of hindsight, my friend," Vandar interjected. He turned back to Jaran and Bastila. "Clearly, Revan and Malak visited these structures some time in the past. Whether they had already fallen at that time is uncertain, but the things they said and the way they acted in your dream suggests that they had already begun to walk down the dark path. Whether this led to their ultimate corruption we cannot say, but the mounds must be explored."

"That is your first task, Padawan," said Zhar. "Take Bastila with you, as the link between you can only be of great assistance in your endeavor. Once you have investigated, return and report your findings to the council."

"I understand, Masters," said Jaran. Thinking for several moments, he turned to Bastila with a raised eyebrow. "Tomorrow morning?"

Bastila indicated her assent, and Jaran turned back to the council. "We will finish our preparations this evening, and go to the ruins at first light."

Though he did not refer to the fact that he wished to complete the final stages of the construction of his second lightsaber—he did not wish to needlessly antagonize them, after all—the meaning of his statement was clear to all.

"Very well, Padawan," Zhar stated, neatly cutting off what appeared to be a biting comment from Vrook. "Tomorrow is sufficient, but you must not delay any longer. Time is short."

"And may the Force be with you," Vandar stated in a soft tone of voice.

* * *

For the rest of that day, Jaran kept mostly to himself. He had, after all, a lightsaber to finish building, and his mood was not precisely conducive to spending a great deal of time with others. This seemed to suit Bastila quite well as, after a quick conversation following their meeting with the masters, his female companion bid him farewell and left to spend some solitary time in her quarters, largely, he suspected, to meditate upon what had happened that morning. And as Zaalbar and Mission were still up to who knows what, and he had not seen Canderous or Carth much in the past weeks, there was no one else with whom he would be required to spend any time.

First, he replaced the crystal in his first lightsaber with one which he had found in the kinrath den. It was a little darker in color than the other—a deep cobalt—and though he could not explain it, he felt that the color was somehow more appropriate. Then he busied himself with the completion of the other weapon, with another crystal he had found in the cave, a light cyan color.

Working on his lightsaber was incredibly soothing to the newly acknowledged Padawan, and sitting at the work bench for the rest of the afternoon, as a consequence, had the effect of calming him, and allowing him to center himself. It had always been thus, he reflected—working with his hands was something he found satisfying, and it had always been something at which he possessed a certain amount of skill.

The work on his lightsaber in particular, while intricate and requiring some attention to detail, was familiar to him, and allowed his mind to wander to a certain extent. While simply sitting and thinking about the past weeks, and his thoughts, fears, and worries would have left him unbalanced and fretful, allowing his mind to flit over the issues in his life while concentrating on what he was doing, helped him to be somewhat more detached and calm about it all. It was very much a balm to his troubled state of mind.

The primary thought in his mind, of course, had to do with the investigation of the ruins scheduled for the following morning. He was not afraid. Rather he was concerned for just what Revan and Malak had found there, and consequently, where it would lead them. The site was disquieting of course; the faint miasma of the dark side lingering over it unsettled him. He knew the reason for this—his discussion with Bastila earlier that morning. The thought that something he did could affect her negatively had not been far from his mind since she had brought the issue to his mind, and had had the effect of sobering him rather thoroughly.

And then, of course, the other thoughts which came to his mind were concerning the other event which had passed between them outside the kinrath cave. Unless Jaran missed his guess, he suspected the bond had in that instant deepened rather significantly. And in this matter, Jaran felt himself completely out of his depth—he had never experienced something quite like it, and it worried him. The experience had been so profound, and the bond was tying them so tightly together, he was beginning to wonder if he would ever be free of her.

Even more than that, a small part of him wondered if he truly _wanted_ to be free of her…

_That fact_ was possibly the most contradictory, being both shocking in how quickly it had come about and—surprisingly—almost welcome. His feelings had certainly come a long way from disdainful and disgusted with her hauteur, to being protective of her, and affectionate toward her. He now actually looked forward to spending time with her; he could never have dreamed of crossing that gap so quickly.

By the end of the afternoon, Jaran had accomplished several things. The first was his lightsaber—its construction was completed and a quick test in the training room proved that its construction had been a success. Standing in his quarters after he had returned, Jaran compared the two, noting how they were very similar in design, though the second had a slightly shorter handle, and a beam which could be made even shorter as was preferred for a second weapon. It was still a deadly weapon, however, as deadly as the first, and as soon as he had activated it, he had felt the same sort of affinity for it as he possessed for his first. These were truly two weapons with which he felt he could almost take on the entire galaxy.

The second accomplishment was more for his peace of mind—the whole situation with Bastila. Knowing that there was truly nothing he could do immediately, he had decided with some thought that he would simply have to do as the masters had commanded—be watchful for any tendency toward the dark side, strive to remember to follow the light, and behave in a manner which befitted a Jedi at all times. Yes he had become jaded during his time as a soldier and smuggler, but even with his somewhat cynical outlook, he had always tried to maintain his connection to his better side, and fight the temptation to indulge in anything unsavory. He would simply need to ensure that he continued to do so, for his companion's sake if not for his own.

That evening he saw Bastila again in the common dining room the residents of the enclave gathered to eat. She appeared to have spent her time wisely as she was every bit the serene and confident Jedi she had ever been. And though he knew that things had once again changed between them, they had had no difficulty in spending the evening in one another's companion with equanimity and comfort. It was almost as though the trials of the morning did not even exist, though Jaran knew they would have to face them at the proper time.

* * *

"This appears to be it," Bastila commented.

Jaran could only nod; the location—and the feelings it engendered—were much as he remembered them. They stood in front of an ancient metal door, which stood closed and barred before them. The door was set into the side of a low, oval hill, which gave the impression of a burial mound, much as the masters had said. The sides of the mound sloped up gently to come to a crest about twenty meters high, and it was covered with many millennia of dirt and dust. The mound was overgrown with long slender weeds, gently undulating in the Dantooine wind. Or perhaps it was indeed a burial mound of some sort, and the inner chamber was simply tunneled into the side of the hill.

Privately he doubted that. Not only would whatever the mound contained not have survived several hundreds—or more—of years it had lain here dormant, but the mound in general was much too smooth and symmetrical to have occurred naturally.

"Do you plan to stand and stare at the door longer, or shall we enter?" Bastila asked, a cheekiness Jaran had rarely heard before evident in her voice.

Flashing her a quick grin—and secretly pleased that she was learning to tease a little on her own—Jaran motioned her to lead the way. Several centuries earlier when the enclave had first been established, the Jedi of the time, thinking that the mounds were Sith burial sites, and not wishing their apprentices to find anything which had best be left undisturbed, had sealed the entrances up and forgotten about them. The keys, however, had been left to succeeding generations of Jedi to protect. One of the knights in the enclave had been sent a number of days earlier to investigate the mounds, but he had never returned. It was clear that the knight had been there, as the Jedi protections were down, and the way to enter was clear. How Revan and Malak had managed to enter was not certain, but they must have circumvented them in some fashion. Either that or they found some other hidden entrance.

Bastila stepped forward and depressed a switch on the door. A crack formed horizontally in its center and the two halves slid apart, revealing a dim hallway, perhaps some fifty meters long, which ended at the far side of the hallway with another door, much like the one they had just opened. As Jaran had suspected, the interior was fashioned from massive flagstones expertly and seamlessly fitted, and sealed with some agent Jaran had never before seen. And though he would have expected the interior to be dusty and filthy, it appeared as though it was largely clean and free of dirt.

Stepping in through the door, Jaran made his way past down the hallway toward the other door. "Cheerful sort of place, isn't it?" he commented.

"Positively delightful," was Bastila's dry reply.

At the end of the hallway, Jaran checked his lightsabers, making certain they were close to hand—noting offhandedly that Bastila had done the same with her saber staff—before once again touching the control to open the door.

The next room beyond the door was much smaller than the corridor through which they had just traversed. It was square in shape, with doors set in each of the other three walls, constructed of the same materials which had characterized the outer corridor. In the center of this room, however, stood an ancient droid of a design Jaran had never before seen. It had four legs which jutted up from near the bottom of its cylindrical body, up to a joint, and then down to the floor, narrowing to a point where they touched the floor. The bottom section of the body rotated and whirred as it turned, while the upper portion was stationary. At the top was a cone-shaped appendage which Jaran took for the head, with a single glowing yellow eye which jutted out from its neck. The droid immediately turned and focused its eye on them as soon as the door opened.

"It doesn't look like it's armed," Jaran noted to his companion.

"Only one way to find out, isn't there?"

Bastila stepped into the room cautiously, eyeing the droid as it stared impassively back at them. It still made no move to challenge them or speak until they had approached to within ten meters of its position, when it began to speak at them. Unfortunately, whether it was just making noise, or was speaking in a language which they could not understand, he could not make out.

"I'm sorry, we don't understand," said Jaran, prompting the droid to switch up the sounds it was making. Jaran still could not understand what it was saying, but it appeared certain now that it was making an attempt to communicate.

"It seems to be cycling through a variety of languages."

"I'd guess so. But unfortunately, I haven't heard anything that I recognize yet."

"Do you think it can understand us?"

"It's possible," was Bastila's response. "But it may not be programmed to speak in galactic basic."

"Which means we may not be able to understand it at all."

The droid changed then to a guttural, hissing sound, much like the sound of two large rocks colliding against one another under water. "I can reproduce any of the languages spoken by the slaves of the builders."

"I understood that!" Jaran exclaimed.

"I recognize the language as well, though I didn't catch all of what it said," Bastila confirmed. "It's an archaic dialect of the Selkath language spoken on Manaan, isn't it?"

"Yes it is," Jaran agreed. "I'm not sure I understand why a droid on Dantooine would be programmed to speak ancient Selkath."

"Well, you're the linguist here—speak with it," Bastila declared with a smug grin.

Jaran smiled at her, but the droid was already responding to his rhetorical question. "It was necessary that I was able to communicate with the slave species who constructed this temple as directed by the Builders. _You_ are not of the slave species, nor are you of the Builders. You are like the one who came before."

"Revan?" Bastila queried with an upraised eyebrow.

"That would be my guess," Jaran agreed absentmindedly. "They must have encountered this droid when they explored these ruins."

Turning his attention back to the droid, Jaran thought for a few moments before deciding how he would approach the droid. Thus far it had not turned hostile, but he knew he had to remain on his guard.

"Why are you here?"

"I am the Overseer," the droid responded. "I was programmed to oversee the construction of this site, and enforce discipline among the slaves. This is a monument to the power of the Star Forge. At project completion, all slaves were executed. I was then reprogrammed to serve should a Builder return in search of knowledge of the Star Forge."

"Which would appear to be one of the reasons why there is no record of what this site truly is," Bastila said with a measure of frosty disapproval. "These Builders do not appear to be have been especially benevolent in nature."

Jaran could only agree. "How long have you been here?" he asked, eschewing the obvious question for the moment.

"My chronological circuits have marked over ten full revolutions of this system's outermost planet around the sun since the Builders left."

Bastila gasped. "Jaran, the outermost planet's revolution cycle takes over two thousand years. That's more than 20,000 years!"

"Not to mention predating the Republic by more than 5,000 years," Jaran replied. "Are you certain your circuits are working correctly?"

"There is no mistake. The Builders constructed my chronological circuitry using the technology of the Star Forge itself. My calculations are infallible."

"Then who are the Builders?"

"The Builders are the great masters of the galaxy, the conquerors of all worlds, the rulers of the infinite empire and the creators of the Star Forge."

"They must be extinct," said Bastila. "There certainly isn't any record of any 'infinite empire' or a race which enslaved the entire galaxy in the archives. It's strange that there is no mention of their existence."

Thinking about what they had just discussed, Jaran wondered where these Builders could have come from. Or could they possibly have been one of the sentient species which still inhabited the galaxy?

"The Hutts were dominant before the formation of the Republic. Could they have been the Builders?

"They never built an empire," Bastila disagreed.

"That we know of," countered Jaran. "If somehow the existence of this empire has been hidden or lost to history, it's possible that the Builders are one of the known sentient species in the galaxy."

"Perhaps," conceded Bastila. "I hardly think so, though—the Hutts are vile and evil slugs, but they've never been numerous or powerful enough to dominate the galaxy."

"What of the Selkath?" Jaran asked. "The droid speaks Selkath—perhaps they were the Builders."

The droid, which had obviously been listening to their conversation, interjected at that point. "The Selkath were nothing but slaves and servants of the true masters. Like all the other species, they bowed down before the might of the Builders and the Star Forge.

"The empire of the Builders is infinite and everlasting. None can stand against their might and the power of the Star Forge."

Jaran exchanged a glance with Bastila and chucked quietly. "Now that doesn't appear to be the case, now does it? At least, there certainly is no species which dominates the galaxy to the extent this droid is insinuating.

"Have you seen a Builder recently?" Jaran directed the question at the droid.

"I have been here ever since the completion of this monument. In all this time no Builder has returned to seek information on the Star Forge."

Mention of the 'Star Forge' had come up several times from this strange droid, and Jaran decided it was time to find out exactly what it was.

"What is the 'Star Forge'?"

"The Star Forge is the glory of the Builders, the apex of their infinite empire. It is a machine of invincible might, a tool of unstoppable conquest."

"Well that's not very illuminating, is it?" quipped Bastila.

"At least it has confirmed it is a machine—one which they evidently used to build their empire," Jaran countered. He turned his attention back to the droid. "But was does the Star Forge do?"

The droid's head moved erratically for several seconds before it responded, almost seeming hesitant as it did so. "The… Star Forge is the glory of the Builders, the apex of their infinite empire. It is a machine of invincible might, a tool of unstoppable conquest."

"It doesn't have the knowledge we seek," Bastila said with a shake of her head. "They have programmed it with their rhetoric and their propaganda about their race's supposed superiority, but with little real information; likely they assumed that anyone searching for it would already know what it is."

"But why would they need to seek for this knowledge at all? If this thing was of such importance, wouldn't they already know of it?"

"Perhaps it was something of a pilgrimage," suggested Bastila.

"Still sounds a little strange," returned Jaran. "It seems more likely that they set this up as a means for their people to once again find their device, should their empire ever experience an uprising of slaves, or fall on difficult times."

"The empire of the Builders is infinite and everlasting. None can stand against their might and the power of the Star Forge."

Jaran lifted an eyebrow at his companion in response to the droid's assertion. Obviously, its programming left little room for anything other than this mysterious race's official superior dogma."

Bastila nodded, but was silent, allowing Jaran to consider what they had been told. By all indications, regardless of the boasting with which the droid was programmed, this Star Forge appeared to have been what Revan and Malak were searching for when they visited Dantooine. The question was, what was it? Though the droid gave them no true information, the name at least suggested a possibility.

"It sounds like the Star Forge is some kind of weapons plant, or some large factory."

Bastila nodded. "That would explain Malak's limitless resources. It's probably something more powerful than a simple factory. Perhaps it has more information we can use. It seems to respond to you; why don't you ask it something else?"

Frowning, Jaran glanced at the droid. "Why would it respond to me?"

"I don't know," Bastila said with a shrug. "Perhaps these Builders were a patriarchal society, or maybe it sees you as dominant, as the other Jedi who have investigated this place were also male."

Jaran was unconvinced, but he made no further comment. It was not important why the droid responded to him, simply that they gain whatever information they could from it.

"So, your purpose here was to build this… monument did you call it?"

"It was, but that purpose ended when this monument was complete. Now that the slaves are gone, my purpose is to aid those who seek the knowledge of the Star Forge… if they are worthy.

"The ones who came before you—the ones like you, not Builders but not slaves—sought knowledge of the Star Forge and its origins. They proved themselves worthy. They discovered the secrets of the Star Forge locked beyond the sealed door behind me. But there was another who failed to unlock the secrets and paid the price."

The droid's eye flickered to the corner behind them. Turning, Jaran turned and, in the corner behind them, obscured by the gloom, lay the body of a Jedi knight. Jaran exchanged a glance with Bastila and approached the gloom, noting the energy wounds on the body. He turned the body over, and saw the face of Nemo, an older Jedi knight who he had sometimes spoken to at the academy. The mystery of the Jedi who had been sent to investigate the ruins was solved.

"Poor Nemo," Bastila said. "He was always kind and considerate, but only became a knight because he had been a Padawan for so long."

Jaran glanced at her curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Nemo was not very powerful," Bastila responded. "He was apparently taken in for training only after some debate—he was only borderline Force sensitive, and struggled to master the skills necessary to become a full member of the order. It was fairly common knowledge that the exacting standards of the trials were relaxed in his case so he could become a knight."

"I didn't know that," said Jaran. "I only spoke with him a few times, but when I did he impressed me with his wisdom and knowledge."

Smiling sadly, Bastila said, "It's funny how these things work out. Had he been more powerful, Nemo almost certainly would have been considered to be one of the foremost philosophers of the order. As it is, he spent most of his life on the fringes, either here on Dantooine, or in other out of the way Jedi centers. Intellectually I am certain he would have been able to meet any challenge in this temple, but if any combat was required…"

Bastila did not need to finish her sentence—her meaning was completely clear. Rising from the body, Jaran peered at the droid in the center of the room, as it regarded them impassively. It would certainly feel no remorse due to the death of such a worthy being, even had it been programmed with the necessary feelings. Given its comments thus far, Jaran suspected it had not.

"Did you kill this Jedi?"

The droid's impassive answer was everything he expected. "I am not programmed for combat. I did not harm the one who failed. This temple's own protections will destroy those who seek knowledge of the Star Forge if they are deemed worthy.

"I'd hate to think of how a temple steeped in the dark side would decide how one can be considered 'worthy,'" Jaran muttered.

The droid, however, took this as a question and answered him readily. "Enter the proving grounds to the east and west. Within them those who understand the will of the Builders can unlock their secrets and open the doors. But those who fail will be destroyed by the power of the temple itself. More than this, I am not programmed to say.

Exchanging a glance, with Bastila, Jaran sighed. "I suppose we don't have a choice."

"Revan and Malak obviously passed through the door, Jaran. Whatever it is they uncovered—whatever information exists regarding this 'Star Forge' was important enough for them to risk it. And given what has transpired since that time, the Star Forge is being used against the Republic. We must find out what it is and where it can be found, so that it can be combated."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Jaran said with a cheeky grin, which was returned immediately by his companion.

Not much was said after that. Both Jedi removed their lightsabers from their belts, and readied themselves for anything. Given the fact that Nemo lay dead on the floor with burns on his body, it was undeniable that they would need to prevail in combat with some entity of the temple.

Stepping up to the door to the left of the entrance, Jaran glanced at Bastila for confirmation, depressing the switch as soon as he received it.

The room beyond was much darker than the central chamber and was perhaps half as long as the entrance hallway. Jaran did not have much time to make out much more than that, however, as the moment the door opened, the two Jedi were greeted with a hail of blaster fire, emanating from deep inside the room. Bringing his lightsaber up, Jaran deflected the first volley back toward its source, seeing them impact against a red shield at the far end of the room. The shield surrounded a droid which appeared remarkably similar to the one with which they had just finished their discussion. The difference was that this droid was armed with an impressive battery of energy weapons which it was now using against the two Jedi.

"It's shielded!" Bastila shouted as her lightsaber moved in a blur, intercepting the impressive array of blaster fire headed in their direction.

"Cover me!" Jaran shouted, moving behind her as she moved to take position in front of him.

Reaching into a pouch, Jaran fished a grenade and, pulling the pin, took aim and heaved it at the droid, guiding it to a rest directly under the machine with the Force. The resulting explosion weakened the droid and knocked out some of its weapons, while simultaneously destroying its shield. From there it was a simple matter to continue to deflect its remaining blaster bolts back at it until it collapsed to the floor in a heap of molten metal from its own weapons.

Panting, Bastila brought her weapon down and peered at Jaran. "I didn't realize you had brought grenades with you."

Shrugging, Jaran entered the room, glancing warily into the darkness for any other threats. "It seemed prudent to be prepared for anything."

They quickly searched the room, coming across an ancient terminal along the back wall of the room. Glancing at Bastila, Jaran raised an eyebrow, prompting a gesture in return.

"The droid responded to you—it would seem to make sense you will have better luck with their computer technology too."

With a nod, Jaran peered down at the terminal, only to find a bewildering array of symbols and keys, none of which he could make any sense. "I'm not sure what to push," he said. "I've never seen anything like this before."

At his words, the terminal flashed briefly and emitted a cacophony of sounds which meant nothing. But at the end, Jaran heard his datapad in his pouch respond with a single note.

Glancing at Bastila, Jaran examined the terminal, finding an open slot underneath the screen and keyboard at the top. Gingerly, he inserted his datapad into the opening, letting go when the terminal drew it in to the slot.

"It appears like it needs to learn Basic, the same as the droid outside," Bastila commented.

"Apparently," was Jaran's dry reply.

A moment later, his datapad emerged again from the terminal. Jaran pocketed the small device and looked down at the screen. The terminal still displayed the strange characters, but in the center it was cycling through them at a high rate of speed.

"Interpret to Galactic Basic," Jaran instructed the terminal.

After a moment it flashed once again, and messages began appearing on the screen.

DATA INTERPRETATION – COMPLETE. LANGUAGE ANALYSIS – COMPLETE.

"Well, that seems to have done it."

Jaran nodded, but his attention was focused on the terminal, which was now displaying a new message.

INTERROGATIVE: IDENTIFY THE THREE PRIMARY LIFE-GIVING SEED WORLD TYPES.

Six possibilities were listed underneath the question: Oceanic, Grassland, Desert, Volcanic, Arboreal, and Barren.

Confused, Jaran glanced at Bastila, who was staring at the screen herself. "Is this thing for real?"

"The answers appear simple enough."

"That's the point, Bastila," was his curt response. "_This_ is what they consider to be 'proving grounds'? A child could answer this question."

"They obviously did not think highly of their slave races," was Bastila's response. "Perhaps all of their slave races were confined to their own worlds and kept downtrodden and uneducated. To the Builders this may have been an insurmountable obstacle—or perhaps the droid was the true test."

Jaran shook his head. "Or perhaps these Builders were dumb as gizkas."

"Are you actually complaining that this is too _easy?_" Bastila teased. "Does everything always have to be life and death?"

Ruefully, Jaran shook his head. It just seemed that it was rather anticlimactic that the final test was nothing more than a simple question which any student at a standard school would be able to answer. He quickly keyed in the correct responses, noting the final message displayed on the terminal: BREAKING DEATH SEAL. The screen then went black

"That would seem to be it," Jaran said, and he turned and left the room with his companion by his side.

The 'proving ground' on the other side contained an identical challenge to the first, though this terminal asked for 'death-giving seed world types', though the available answers were again the same as before. Keying in the correct answers prompted the same response, and once again they exited the room.

The Overseer still stood in the center of the room with its eye trained on them, but it offered no further information. Ignoring it, Jaran stepped to the door opposite the entrance and, after a confirmation again from Bastila that she was ready, he depressed the switch and stepped back, watching the door slid open.

This room was markedly different from the other rooms. For one, it was much smaller, perhaps no more than fifteen meters from entrance to the back wall. There were no threats waiting in this room for them—it appeared to be undisturbed and completely still. And the only object in the room was a curious machine which gave off a low hum. The machine had a circular base, from which three long arms jutted up almost a meter into the air. It appeared almost like an inverted tripod in the way it sat on the floor, waiting for some supplicant to approach.

And approach Jaran did, almost cautiously, feeling Bastila's movements to his side mirroring his own. They edged toward the machine, inspecting it for any hidden threats, until they had moved within a few meters. Then, the machine seemed to come to life. The three arms moved on hidden hinges at the base, lowering until they were almost horizontal to the floor. From their joints down in the center of the machine, a ball of light whirled before rising almost a meter in the air, rotating ever faster. Then the light emitting from the ball coalesced, before bursting out into a larger sphere, which then rotated in the air, thousands upon thousands of tiny pinpricks of light, rotating around and through the sphere.

"A map of the galaxy?" Jaran queried.

"It would appear to be so," was Bastila's absent reply. "A Star Map of sorts." She was studying the machine before them with an intense scrutiny which was so like her that Jaran simply had to grin in response.

It did appear to be a map of the galaxy, but where parts of a standard Republic map were blacked out—most notably the area of the Unknown Regions—this map was much better detailed in that area, while being a little sparser in others. Looking closer at the rotating image in front of him, Jaran noted that a few locations appeared to be highlighted with an array of colors.

"Bastila, have a look at these," Jaran said, addressing his companion. "There are a few planets which are a little different from the rest."

"I had noticed that," Bastila confirmed. "I'm cross-referencing them in my datapad now."

While Bastila was busy with that, Jaran walked around the map to get a better view of it. The alien technology was constructed of a material which Jaran had never seen before. It almost seemed to be a cross between a dark grayish rock and some sort of durasteel, though in the dim light it was impossible to make out more than that. The map was also impressive in its detail and accuracy. Though the droid claimed that it was more than twenty thousand years old, galactic movement appeared to have been accounted for—there were no errors in the locations of the systems that he could immediately discern.

"I've determined the locations of the highlighted systems," Bastila's voice interrupted him from his contemplation. She pointed at the applicable systems as she spoke. "This tan planet here appears to be Tatooine, the green one is Kashyyyk, the blue is Manaan, and finally, the red one is Korriban."

"Korriban?" Jaran asked.

Bastila's answer was grim. "Yes; the Sith world. And if you notice here," Bastila continued, pointing at a series of numbers down near the bottom, "there is also a set of coordinates. They are, unfortunately, not complete."

"Do you think there are other maps on those other worlds?" Jaran asked after a moment's consideration.

Nodding, Bastila sighed and tucked her datapad back into her pouch. "It would seem to make sense. The droid outside told us this was a monument to the Builders, and a place of testing for those who are searching for the Star Forge."

"In that case, with the incomplete coordinates, it appears that this is not the only monument they built. The test must encompass all the Star Maps. Perhaps that was why the challenge in the proving grounds was not much of a challenge; the challenge is finding them all.

"I would suspect so," was Bastila's reply.

Exchanging glances, Jaran motioned back toward the entrance. "I think we have everything we came here for; our path appears to have been determined for us. We had better get this information back to the masters."

The Overseer had nothing further to say, unfortunately, though perhaps unsurprisingly. Jaran had hoped that passing the tests and finding the map would activate some further routine or program which would give them more information. Unfortunately, the Builders had not seen fit to provide any further illumination. It appeared that they were on their own in the search for the Star Forge.

* * *

Their return to the enclave was accomplished in silence, and when they arrived, they immediately made their way toward the council chamber and the waiting masters. The council was all gathered there, and though they displayed their typical Jedi calm and stoic dispassion, Jaran thought he could sense a certain tension about them. It was understandable, considering the situation and importance of the mission.

"Jaran, Bastila," Vandar said in greeting as they entered the room. "What have you discovered?"

Bastila stepped forward as the spokesman, and pulled out her datapad. "We found an incomplete Star Map and a reference to a device called a 'Star Forge.'"

The masters shared a glance at this news, and motioned for the two Padawans to continue their story. The Next hour was spent detailing exactly what happened in the Builders' monument. Carefully, the six Jedi considered all of the available information and discussed the ramifications of the morning's discoveries. At one point during the discussion, Master Dorak left the room to sift through the Jedi archives to see if he could find any mention of this Star Forge, but he was forced to return in failure—there was nothing which gave them any indication of the nature of the Star Forge. Morning had almost given away to afternoon by the time they began to plan for the future mission.

"It would appear that there is no other course for us to pursue than to search for missing coordinates at the planets listed in the Star Map," Zhar finally said. "If you can trace Revan's steps and find the coordinates, they should ultimately lead you to the Star Forge."

"When do we leave?" Jaran asked, earning a fond smile from the Twi'lek master.

"Your eagerness is welcome, and not misplaced," Zhar responded. "I believe you will need to leave immediately and move quickly before Malak presses us further."

"We should discuss how this mission is to be pursued," Vandar interjected. "It is obvious that you and Bastila will go, but some thought needs to be taken for who will accompany you."

"Is it wise for Bastila to go?" Jaran asked, noting at once the displeased frown adorning his companion's face. "Isn't her Battle Meditation needed to hold the Sith at bay?"

"Perhaps conventional wisdom would suggest that you are correct, Padawan," Vandar replied. "But it has become more and more apparent that victory over Malak's forces will not come via martial might."

"And there is also the bond between you to consider," interjected Vrook. "The Force has bound you together for a purpose, and we would be fools if we ignored that and split you at so critical a time."

"Master Vrook is correct," said Vandar with a nod. "Bastila may indeed be able to give us more valuable time if her Battle Meditation is utilized against Malak, but in the end, she will fail, and the Republic will fall with her. It is better for you both to go."

By now Jaran had had enough exposure to the Jedi ability to correctly interpret the situation, and he said nothing. The soldier in him clamoring to be heard, however, wanted to argue that tactically the Master's position was unsound. Bastila's Battle Meditation may buy them several more months in which to find the Star Forge and stop Malak, and there was no telling how long this mission would take, after all. But Jaran held his tongue, contenting himself with a nod of acknowledgement, allowing the discussion to continue.

"What exactly this Star Forge constitutes is uncertain, but it is obviously a powerful tool of the dark side," continued Vandar "It must be found!"

"Now, as to the particulars," said Zhar, "though it would perhaps be prudent to send a company of knights along to assist you in your endeavor, I believe that would do more harm than good."

"Definitely not," Jaran said firmly. "The more Jedi you send on this mission, the more likely we are to be detected. As you said, Master, martial might will not win us the day. Our best hope is secrecy."

"I concur, Padawan," Vandar said with approval. "Bastila will of course accompany you, but I think your company should be kept small."

"I do have a few companions who will likely want to come along," Jaran said. "I seem to have… acquired a life debt from Zaalbar, our Wookiee companion, and I doubt that I would be able to keep Mission away either, if Zaalbar goes."

"We are aware of this," said Dorak. "Of course your companions will want to travel with you."

"And as Carth Onasi has been reassigned to the Jedi," Vandar continued, "he will also accompany you. His skills as a soldier and pilot will be very useful to your cause.

"Just remember and be on your guard. You will, of course, be unable to hide the fact that you are Jedi, and we would not recommend you attempt to do so in any case. However, the true nature of your mission must not be discovered by Malak or the Sith."

Jaran frowned. "We may not be able to keep it a secret, masters. If Malak and Revan followed this same path, Malak may realize what we are doing if he receives reports that we have been sighted on those worlds."

"Unfortunately, that cannot be helped," Zhar said. "Do your best to remain inconspicuous and attempt to avoid notice. You may wish to visit other planets as well, in an attempt to throw Malak off your trail."

It seemed like it was a long shot. Malak knew the path to this Star Forge—how could they even know that the infamous pair had not destroyed the Star Maps in an attempt to prevent someone else from attempting to follow the same path to the Star Forge? Of course, they had not destroyed the first, but that did not mean that they had left the rest intact.

And what of the planets themselves? It was very possible that the Sith Lords had left behind some forces to protect the Star Maps if they had not destroyed them, or at the very least left a spies watching the planets. If he had, their mission would be betrayed by the time they arrived at the second world. Never mind that one of the worlds—Manaan—had a significant Sith presence, while another—Korriban—was actually the site of their academy. And neither Kashyyyk, nor Tatooine were under direct Republic control either being both too inhospitable and too remote for the Republic to have much sway in either location.

Still, there truly was no choice, as Master Zhar had said; Malak was winning the war with his seemingly unlimited supply of ships and brutal tactics, regardless of all the Republic and Bastila with her Battle Meditation could do. The key to stopping his advance must lie in the discovery of the source of those supplies, and Jaran knew that this Star Forge was most likely the culprit. _It had to be found!_

"Very well, Masters," Jaran acknowledged. "We will take the rest of the day to ensure that we are stocked for our journey. We can leave first thing tomorrow morning."

"That is well, Padawan," Vandar said. "Feel free to return to Dantooine if necessary during your travels, and we will give you whatever aid you require. Otherwise, may the Force be with you."

"But remember, young Padawan," Vrook interjected, his voice and expression serious and solemn, "you must hold to the light and strive to behave as a Jedi at all times. The lure of the dark side can be very difficult to resist, especially when hope seems dim and despair sets in. I fear this quest to find the Star Forge could lead you down an all too familiar path."

Jaran stared at the master with some consternation, but he did not say anything further. The meeting broke up and each of the masters went their separate ways, all appearing deep in thought. Jaran could not help but wonder about Vrook's meaning, and the ominous words with which he had ended the conversation; it was almost as though the master worried that he was going into a situation which would result in his fall. The meaning of his statement hovered just beyond Jaran's grasp, tantalizing him, teasing him, but not coming any closer to clarity.

"Jaran, we should leave." The sound of Bastila's voice jarred him from his ruminations, and he looked at her with some confusion.

"Don't worry about Master Vrook," she continued, favoring him with a sympathetic smile. "He's known for making pronouncements like this. Like you said yesterday—we will help each other. _That_ will keep us in the light."

Nodding, Jaran took one last look around the room before following Bastila out toward the Hawk. They had some planning and preparation to complete before they could leave.

* * *

The meeting with the entire crew of the Ebon Hawk that afternoon proceeded in a fashion in which Jaran would have expected, though there was certainly a surprise or two. Zaalbar was stoic, as was his wont, never giving any hint of his feelings over the news that they were to depart the next morning. His only comment was an affirmation that he _did_ take his lifedebt seriously and, _yes_, he would be accompanying Jaran on his journey, wherever it may end up taking him. And Mission, young and idealistic as she was, was excited at the prospect of secret quests and heroic last stands. At the very least, it gave her something to think about other than her devastated home world.

Carth, true to form, scowled when informed that they would be leaving the very next day for parts unknown, Jaran and Bastila having decided previously that they would not share the particulars of their mission with their companions until after they had left the planet.

"You know, I'm really getting tired of being left out of the loop," was his angry comment.

"Left out of the loop?" Jaran asked quietly.

"Yeah," he snapped back. "You know, as in ordered about without any explanation, kept in the dark and fed manure… It's really starting to get on my nerves."

"Are you not a soldier, Carth?" Canderous rumbled quietly from his side. And though a month previous Jaran would have expected that comment to incite a war, Carth merely scowled at his companion and turned back to Jaran—the month they had spent in each other's company seemed to have lessened the tension between the two. Now, they appeared to have developed a certain camaraderie and respect for one another, though they certainly could not be termed as being friends.

"You know what I mean," Carth rejoined. "As a soldier, I expect to be ordered on missions and not always given all the strategic details of why the order was given. But we are always given enough of the objective to know what might be required of us. This… farce of an order from the council with no hint of what is going on is only going to get us all killed."

Canderous nodded, but trained his eye on the two Jedi. "I assume you know what our orders are?"

Arching an eyebrow, Jaran regarded the Mandalorian. "_Our_ orders, Canderous?"

The burly soldier shrugged. "I really don't have anything better to do, and this jaunt you are going on sounds like it will be more interesting than selling my services to some lowlife crime boss like Davik."

The look on Carth's face was filled with some disgust. "_Interesting?_ Is _that_ the only reason why you would be willing to go? Do the depravations of Malak and the Sith mean nothing to you?"

"As you know, Carth," Canderous responded evenly, "the people of the Republic are not my people. My people are scattered to the four corners of the galaxy."

"You deserved it," Carth muttered under his breath,

Apparently Carth's muffled comment was still audible enough for the Mandalorian to hear him. "I am not surprised you would think so," Canderous agreed with an affability which belied the seriousness of the accusation. "You must understand that we did not attack you for gain or for hatred or any other reason. We did it to test ourselves and for the honor and glory of battle. No other test has any meaning."

"It appears that you failed," was Carth's snide reply.

"It is no dishonor in yielding to a superior foe. And yes, we ultimately were bested, but it was largely because of the efforts of one man." Canderous stabbed Republic soldier with a piercing glare. "Your Republic was losing and losing badly until the Jedi Revan intervened. He proved himself to be our superior in battle, which is why we respect him."

"Then what of what Malak is doing now?" Jaran asked in spite of himself.

"There is… no honor in your Jedi's actions since my people's defeat," Canderous said after a slight hesitation. "This Malak especially. To bombard an entire world and destroy it without mercy is despicable."

"And your people did not do the same?"

Finally Canderous's ire appeared to be raised and he directed his glare at Carth. "My people destroyed our adversaries, yes, but never those who were defenseless. We conquered worthy foes—we never destroyed those who were unable to defend themselves."

"This is all very interesting," interjected Bastila, "but we are planning a very important mission, not discussing a treatise on Mandalorian honor systems."

"So, _do _you know the specifics of these orders?" Carth asked, peering at the two Jedi.

Jaran, for one, had almost had as much as he could take of Carth's accusatory manner. But it would not do to provoke an even larger disagreement—Carth's skills would be needed in the coming trials. "Carth, in answer to your question, yes, we do know what our orders are and the reasons for them."

"We will share those with the entire group at the appropriate time," Bastila added.

Compassion replaced annoyance in her expression, and she hastened to reassure the untrusting soldier. "Carth, I assure you that we are not keeping anything from you for spite, or any other reason than the need to ensure our success. I understand your desire to know more about our task, and I swear to you that we will tell you as much as we can. I ask you to trust us and trust the council. We will not lead you astray."

Though he was still obviously unhappy, Carth released an explosive sigh and his shoulders slumped as though defeated. He made a dismissive motion with his hand. "It's not that I don't trust you, precisely, it's just…" He appeared to struggle for words for a few moments before he threw his hands up in the air and stood. "If that's the way it has to be, then I suppose I'll just have to live with it. I'm going outside to inspect the ship. We need her in tiptop condition if we are leaving tomorrow."

"I'll help," Canderous stated and the two men left the hold.

"Well, _that_ was pleasant," Jaran commented with a grimace.

"He'll come around," said Bastila. "He's a career soldier and he's used to following orders. We just need to let him find his trust."

"He had better find it quickly, or he'll be a liability," said Jaran. "Now, we had better follow suit if we are to leave in the morning."

It was perhaps an inauspicious beginning, but as the two Jedi left to attend to their preparations, Jaran knew that it would only become more difficult. This mission would change them all he was certain. He only hoped the changes would be for the better.

* * *

**A/N:**

1. Now don't anyone have a heart attack! Yes, I have finally updated this story. I do want to finish it, and I'm hoping that I finally have my interest and momentum back. For anyone keeping track of _Heart and Soul_, you have a double posting today!

2. I finally broke down and did something I should have done long ago. Part of the reason why it has been so difficult to get going on this again is because it has been so long since I played the game and I had forgotten so much that I was not confident in trying to compose the story. I recently decided to take the game up again, and I was reminded why I liked it in the first place - it's a great game, and I have found myself truly enjoying it all over again. So, I played up to the point I was in the story, then played a little more before writing the chapter. I will keep doing that, and hopefully will make some progress.

3. When I first started writing Redemption, I took a lot of the dialogue directly from the game, adding a hefty amount to it. Dialogue from a game tends to get a little goofy, after all, and it's certainly sparse. Now I'm mostly writing the dialogue myself, though there are likely some phrases which will still find their way in. The kinrath pup quip is, of course, directly from the game, and purposefully used, as it fits with the type of character I am trying to portray in Jaran. I will likely continue to use certain memorable phrases. The one exception to this rule is the dialogue from the Overseer - that I largely took straight from the game, because it sounded so much better than when I tried to embellish.

4. Just a note of interest - this chapter marks the beginning of the second third of the story. Right now my plan calls for 36 chapters in total, though, as always, that is subject to change.

5. I will try to keep updating fairly regularly, but Heart and Soul will still be my priority, as will other projects I am currently working on. Still, I would reasonably think that you can expect at least a chapter a month. Crossing my fingers anyway...


	14. Chapter 14

**Previously:** Jaran returns to the enclave to a hero's welcome for the redemption of Juhani. Jaran and Bastila investigate the ruins, learning of the Builders and the existence of the Star Forge. The council decides that they must seek out the rest of the Star Maps to determine the location of the Star Forge. They meet with the rest of the Ebon Hawk's crew to discuss the upcoming mission.

* * *

**Chapter 14 – Wookiee Trouble  
**

_A deep, dark forest path. Thick foliage, draped heavily over the landscape. Stillness. A complete absence of movement. Shadow. Little light penetrates through the undergrowth. Silence. Not even the sounds of the forest break the utter lack of sound._

_ Something begins to stir, a stranger in this shadowy landscape. Machinery. Incongruous in the undergrowth. Ancient and filthy from the passage of time and disuse. An inverted tripod; three arms separate and lower outward toward the floor. A small, black ball rises from the center and hovers in the air, beginning to spin, to emit an eerie glow._

_Darkness._

* * *

Exhausted, Jaran staggered from the dorm on the Ebon Hawk to the fresher, scrubbing at his face while grumbling about Force induced visions and ancient artifacts. These visions and dreams were becoming more than a little annoying, and the fact that they confirmed the accuracy of their suppositions and their path did nothing to inspire Jaran to appreciate their appearance. He had always done fine without visions from the Force, and was certain he could manage without them in this instance as well.

Standing in the cleaning unit, Jaran bowed his head and leaned forward until he rested against the wall with a sigh, wishing that the Hawk had been equipped with a more soothing water fresher, regardless of the extravagance. Sonic freshers simply did not impart the feeling of cleanliness that water did. It was one of the primary drawbacks of most space travel, in his opinion.

Once he had cleaned and refreshed himself as much as possible, he strode down the passageway toward the cockpit, intent upon seeing how close they were to their destination. Given the dream he had just experienced, it was likely they were very close.

The sight of Bastila seated in the common room was not a surprise. Given that they had shared the dreams on Dantooine, it was not exactly a stretch to assume that the one he had just had the previous night was a shared vision as well.

Feeling a certain camaraderie with the young woman—Force dreams and bonds had a tendency to do that, he thought ruefully—he sank down onto one of the benches next to her, prompting her to raise an eyebrow at him. "Tough night?"

"You should know. I assume you saw the same thing I did."

Bastila's frown deepened. "I did, but the dream was very short, after all. Other than that, I actually slept quite well."

"Lucky you," Jaran groused. "The entire night was pretty much a bust for me."

Peering at him—somewhat suspiciously, Jaran thought—Bastila motioned for him to continue. Though he would have preferred to defer for now, Jaran shrugged his shoulders and responded, knowing she would drag it out of him regardless of his demurral.

"It was nothing in particular—at least not anything I can remember. I did have the dream, but I was restless the entire night. It was almost as though I had too many dreams which were demanding my attention; they all seemed to be trying to get out at once, if that makes any sense."

"Not exactly," Bastila said with a frown. "I don't know that I've ever had that experience, so I don't really have a frame of reference."

Jaran waved her off. He stood, went to the small galley, and poured himself a steaming cup of caf. "I'm not sure I'm explaining it right. It's probably nothing more than an overactive mind and some anxiety about the mission. I won't start worrying about it unless it continues."

Bastila appeared as though she wanted to dispute his unconcerned attitude, but she merely nodded after a moment's hesitation. They sat in companionable silence, Jaran sipping on his caf while Bastila nibbled on a ration bar. It was comfortable and familiar, though still somewhat new to Jaran, and not at all unpleasant to sit there in that manner with Bastila. When Bastila finally spoke again, she almost startled Jaran with her voice, relaxed as he had become.

"What were your impressions?"

Jaran sighed and once more massaged his temples. "It looked like the Star Map was somewhere in the middle of a forest."

"That's what I thought too."

"And if we're right," continued Jaran, "that means somewhere in the Shadowlands."

Bastila made no response—none was necessary. They both knew what that meant, and it certainly was not pleasant.

Kashyyyk was not a well-known planet, and there was much about it which was not understood. What was known was that it was home to the huge Wroshyr Trees—gigantic trees which grew several kilometers into the Kashyyyk sky—and that of Wookiees who made their homes high in their branches. It was a dangerous planet, inhospitable to the unwary, or those who took its dangers lightly.

Upon informing Zaalbar that their first destination would be his home planet, he had not been excited as Jaran had expected. Rather he seemed to greet the news with a certain measure of sad acceptance. Prompting him to talk about his past or the matter which seemed to concern him had done nothing—he remained as uncommunicative as he had ever been, and Jaran had not pressed.

Regardless of his refusal of talking about his past, Zaalbar had been very open in talking about Kashyyyk—a veritable wealth of information. The Wookiees were perhaps the best suited to discuss the nature of their planet, having evolved and lived there since time immemorial, but even they did not know all there was to know. Kashyyyk was an enigma, even considering the technology and tools which existed in the modern galaxy, which allowed greater insight into the past. It was, for one, devoid of most of the different types of terrain which existed on most active and hospitable planets. On Kashyyyk there existed two types of terrain—ocean, which covered the bulk of her surface, and the massive Wroshyr forests, though now that Jaran thought on it, he supposed that its poles were likely as cold and frozen as any other planet.

The forests were, in the words of Zaalbar, a layered deathtrap, and one into which most Wookiees did not descend. Normally, the Wookiees stuck to the topmost, or seventh, layer, which had its own dangers aplenty. It was considered a badge of honor and bravery to descend even down to the fourth layer, below which most Wookiees would not venture. There were, however, a few hardy souls who would descend all the way to the Shadowlands to prove their bravery and their skill. Whether it was bravery or foolhardiness could almost be measured directly by the result of such a journey—survival indicated bravery, while death indicated stupidity. The Shadowlands was truly an inhospitable place.

With respect to the Star Map in particular, it had been too much to hope that its location was easy to find, such as the archipelago where the Wroshyr trees grew to a much more modest four hundred meters, rather than the kilometers in height their deep forest cousins attained. And a construction such as the one on Dantooine similarly could not be built high in the branches of the great trees. No, it would almost certainly have to be located in the deep Shadowlands as the dream suggested, otherwise it would have been discovered, and knowledge of the Builders and their Infinite Empire, come to light long ago.

The one silver lining was that the Star Map was likely located fairly close to one of the few Wookiee settlements. If the Builders had used the Wookiees as slave labor to build this Star Map as they had done with the Selkath and other slave races on Dantooine—and Jaran had no reason to believe that they had strayed from their modus operandi—then it would make sense that it was built in a location which was close to their source of workers. At least Jaran hoped that was the case. Otherwise, they could spend years searching the Shadowlands for the mysterious Star Map and never come within a hundred kilometers of its location.

"Good morning," said a new voice, interrupting Jaran's reverie.

Jaran looked up and saw Juhani enter the room, and greeted her in a friendly yet reserved manner. The final surprise upon leaving Dantooine was the council's decision to grant permission for Juhani to come with them. Still just a Padawan—as Bastila and Jaran himself were—and fresh off her brush with the dark side, Jaran would have expected the council to keep her close to home so they could assist her in her recovery. That had not been the case however, and the council showed no overt concern in allowing her to go with them on what amounted to a dangerous mission.

Jaran was admittedly a newcomer to the Jedi order, but the whole situation felt suspicious. Indeed it was suspicious enough to rouse the concern of their local conspiracy theorist. Carth, upon being informed of Juhani's inclusion in the mission, had reacted with his usual distrustful glare and a rhetorical, "Three Padawans on a critical and dangerous mission. Don't they need to train you or something?"

The masters, however, had simply informed him that she would be travelling with them, insisting that she would be an asset to their mission. Master Vrook had even gone so far as to say that, "Perhaps her recent fall will be a reminder to you of the dangers of the dark side." Jaran did not think he needed any such reminder, but knowing he could not do anything about it, he had taken the option of saying nothing, beyond welcoming Juhani on board the Hawk.

And it was not as though he did not want her there or felt that she would not be an asset—nothing could be further from the truth. But there were warning bells going off in his head that something was happening here, and he had learned long ago to trust his instincts. He would keep a very close eye on things.

After few moments of conversation with the two female Jedi, Jaran excused himself to go to the cockpit to check on their progress.

As usual, Carth could be found sitting in the pilot's chair, and while the ship was still in hyperspace, he was busily checking over instruments and going over the ship's systems. Whether he merely _appeared_ to be busy, or was trying to give himself some occupation so that he could avoid thinking about his discontent, Jaran was uncertain. At least he was making an effort.

Jaran greeted him and approached, which the Republic pilot returned with an even, if not friendly, manner.

"How close are we to Kashyyyk?"

"Less than three quarters of an hour," was the pilot's reply.

"Good. Before we land, let's take a sensor sweep of as much of the planet as we can. That may give us a lead as to where to find this Star Map."

Carth said nothing, merely nodding his head and returning to his previous activities.

Things with Carth had improved to a certain extent in the nearly two days they had been in hyperspace, though the pilot remained aloof from the rest of the group. To a certain extent, their meeting after departing Dantooine to explain what they were trying to accomplish had lessened the sting of being kept in the dark. They had not explained everything—and Jaran suspected that Carth knew they had not been fully upfront—simply telling the company that they were following a path Revan and Malak had taken, which they hoped would explain the secret of why Malak seemed to have such unlimited resources at his disposal. Carth was still slow to trust and Jaran still had no idea what had happened to make him behave in the manner he did, but the overt displays of mistrust were gone. Jaran expected that Carth would eventually confide in him as they became more comfortable. If he did not, then that was the pilot's business. As long as Carth contributed to the mission, it would not be an issue.

True to the pilot's statement, they were streaking down toward the planet's surface less than an hour later. They had lingered in the upper atmosphere for several moments conducting the sensor sweep, but the results were not promising. They had detected the main spaceport—if it could be called that—readily enough, along with a settlement of Wookiees nearby. Several other villages were also detected at greater distances from the spaceport. But though they were able to pick up several hints of technology in various locations, there was nothing to suggest that one of them would be the map they needed to find. It would likely end up becoming a tedious search. As for life forms, the planet was teeming with them, and knowing what little he did about the ecosystem, Jaran was not surprised.

After Carth set the ship down on a large platform nestled high in the trees, the company gathered in the ship's common area for a quick strategy session.

"All right now, everyone," Jaran began, "you all know what we are looking for."

A murmur of agreement ran through the group. "Very well, let's approach this logically. First, Zaalbar—I'd like you to check with the local Wookiees and find out if they know anything about ancient alien technological sites on the planet's surface."

Zaalbar nodded passively, and though Jaran could see he still had some of the melancholy he had carried since learning of their destination, nothing else appeared out of the ordinary. Jaran put the matter out of his mind.

"Mission, I assume you'd like to go with Zaalbar." It was not a question, and Mission readily agreed. "Juhani, you can go with them and help them stay out of trouble."

"Hey!" Mission protested, but the Juhani just nodded, while the Wookiee remained impassive.

"Carth, Canderous," Jaran continued, turning toward the soldiers, "I'd like you to check out the local spacers for any information they can give us."

"You really think space scum will be able to tell us anything?" Carth asked.

"In a word—no," Jaran responded. "But we can't afford to ignore the possibility. I don't know that there will be much in the way of cantinas on this planet, but they have to have somewhere for spacers to go while they are here, or they'll cause problems. Check them out for anything they know.

"Bastila and I will speak with the local Czerka authorities to see if they can tell us anything."

A series of beeps and whistles signaled T3's entrance to the conversation, but though Jaran knew the little droid wanted to be of use, the forests of Kashyyyk was not exactly suitable for a being who depended upon wheels to make its way about.

"Sorry, T3—Kashyyyk wasn't really designed with droids in mind, especially astromechs. I'm afraid you will have to wait here and guard the ship."

The little droid warbled mournfully before he turned and left the room, no doubt to begin locking down the ship.

Turning his attention back to the rest of the company, Jaran gave his final set of instructions. "Remember, everyone, if you get in trouble or lost, make sure you signal the rest of us. We will all meet back at the ship this evening to discuss what we've found. Now, let's go. And may the Force be with us all."

While the rest of the group trooped out of the ship, Jaran paused and performed a last minute check on his equipment and his lightsabers, making certain that everything was in place and easily accessible.

When he looked up, he saw Bastila regarding him with some amusement.

"What?" Jaran asked.

"You're a bit of a perfectionist, aren't you?" said Bastila.

Jaran shrugged. "I've always found it better to _be_ prepared than to _wish_ that I had prepared."

"Sage advice," Bastila murmured.

Grinning, Jaran ushered her from the ship. "Let's get on with this—it's not like we have all the time in the galaxy."

* * *

Up close, Kashyyyk was even more impressive than Jaran had always thought it would be. The trees which towered above them in all directions were not only massive, they were on a scale which was completely incomprehensible without actually seeing them. The platform on which the ship sat was anchored in between three of the trees, whose massive trunks all appeared to be larger around than the diameter of the ship. Off in the distance a walkway led away from the docking bay, branching off at intervals to other platforms, no doubt containing other ships, while several others ended at doors cut literally into the sides of the great trees, which were more than large enough to support large rooms in their interior.

Several beings walked along the paths and their composition appeared to be mixed—Rodians mixed with humans, Twi'leks, and a smattering of other aliens sprinkled in for good measure. It seemed like a fairly busy little operation, and if most of the humans were dressed in the gray uniforms of the Czerka Corporation, Jaran was willing to overlook his distaste for the corporation in favor of focusing on their mission.

A quick discussion with a nearby Rodian and Jaran had the directions to the local Czerka authority headquarters. Thanking the alien, Jaran and Bastila left the platform following the indicated walkway away from the ship.

"Have you ever dealt with Czerka?" Bastila asked.

"Unfortunately I have on occasion," Jaran responded. "You?"

"On one or two occasions when I was training with my master. I found them to be… distasteful."

"What you don't appreciate self-righteousness, a complete disregard for the rights of others, and their corporate culture of selling their own mothers to make a profit? Isn't that the very soul of big business?"

Chuckling, Bastila shook her head. "I'd really like to dispute your characterization, but I cannot. They are all that and more."

"Well, I'm sure _some_ of them are decent people," deadpanned Jaran. "Though I'm sure that it's part of the job interview to make sure they take only the greediest and most immoral of the galaxy."

Bastila nodded in commiseration and fell silent. Czerka was all they had said and more, unfortunately, and Jaran did not feel like either of them had exaggerated much at all. His experiences with them had in general not been pleasant or productive, and he held a deep seated mistrust for the entire operation.

As a company they had a reputation for ruthlessness and dishonesty, doing anything, stepping over anyone in order to make a profit. And though it had not been proven, it was suspected that they dabbled in extremely unsavory practices, not limited to slavery and playing both sides of the current Republic/Sith conflict. Jaran was not looking forward to dealing with them in the slightest.

It took them only moments to find the offices they were searching for, as they were located only a short distance from the spaceport, nestled in between—and to a certain extent inside—two closely growing Wroshyr trees. It was clean and utilitarian, yet sparse and sterile, like the company it represented. Czerka workers were heavily in evidence here, going about their business, running the company's office on this out of the way corner of the galaxy.

And, in a corner of the room lying under a forcefield, lay a Wookiee, seemingly tranquilized as it was not moving. Immediately Jaran's hackles rose at the sight, and he glared toward the Wookiee, considering his options—he could not in good conscience allow this to continue.

Stopping in surprise at the hand on his arm, Jaran peered at Bastila, noting the expression of alarm and concern she directed at him. She pulled him back out of the office and leaned close to him, speaking urgently.

"Jaran, now is not the time for your righteous fury. We have a mission to complete, and though we consider the practice repugnant and morally barbaric, now is not the time for us to exercise that distaste—we can't exactly fight every Czerka employee on the planet."

Letting out a large sigh, Jaran focused his gaze on his companion. "I know, Bastila, but it's still difficult to turn a blind eye."

"Jaran," she said affectionately, "that's one of the things I appreciate the most about you—your sense of what is right and your indignation over the injustices of the galaxy are truly noble. But you don't even know that Wookiee is a slave. For all you know he could be a dangerous criminal that they have apprehended."

"You really believe that?" Jaran demanded incredulously.

"No," Bastila admitted. "But we can't discount the possibility. Either way, our mission is larger than one captive Wookiee, whatever the reason for his incarceration."

"I know," Jaran said after a moment. "But there may be some way we can make a difference, and I will not pass it up if it presents itself."

"I would not expect you to. It is part of who you are."

Jaran smiled warmly at his companion and without another word, they re-entered the office. The denizens of the place regarded them both with some suspicion, given Jaran's glare of a moment ago, but Jaran and Bastila ignored them. A quick question and they found the Czerka representative in charge of Kashyyyk, an Ithorian who stood at the back in front of a desk covered with datapads and important looking documents.

At their approach, the alien turned to them. "Welcome to Edean," it intoned in its own language.

"Edean?" Jaran asked. "I had understood that the planet's name was Kashyyyk."

"Czerka named the planet G5-623 when it was initially discovered. A subsequent poll and corporate ballot of the investors was held and the name Edean was designated. Any other names have little meaning, as Czerka now owns controlling interest here."

"And what is the nature of Czerka's business here?" Jaran challenged.

A soft noise at his side alerted him to Bastila's concern, but though Jaran knew of the importance of keeping Czerka away from their mission, he was not about to completely let go of this.

The alien appeared to take no notice of Jaran's slight note of belligerence. "Wroshyr wood is useful for building many items, and of course there are some who collect tach glands for the making of Tarisian Ale. In fact, with the destruction of Taris, I understand the value of tach glands has risen dramatically. Among other things, the denizens themselves provide… unique opportunities for business."

Reading between the lines, Jaran felt that the Ithorian's words were an admission of Czerka's involvement in the slave trade, but keeping his ire in check, Jaran kept his mind on the task at hand.

"Tell me about it," Jaran responded, drawing on the Force to compel him to answer.

The alien's mind was not equipped to defend against Jaran's abilities and he immediately began to speak. "The local Wookiee population is… harvested—very delicately, of course—and Wookiee thralls provided to other outposts, and whomever wishes to purchase one. _That_ is the true source of Edean's value."

"And the Wookiees tolerate you doing this?"

"They allow the Czerka Corporation."

"Why?"

The alien glanced furtively about the room, and noting that no one else was close enough to overhear them, he stepped forward and continued in a lower tone. "Because we provide arms in exchange for a steady supply of healthy Wookiees. The local leader has been very accommodating."

"Would that not erode the base of his followers?"

"That is not my concern. We provide him weapons, he provides us access to some of his underlings, and I suspect, the ones he provides are ones who would most likely challenge his position. As you can see, it benefits us both."

"Does this Wookiee have a name?"

"Chuundar is his name. Of course, I do not deal with him directly."

"Of course," Jaran murmured, controlling his temper with an iron will.

The slave trade was never pleasant, and hearing a being discuss it and the betrayal of a leader who was sworn to protect his people was sickening. If there was any opportunity, Jaran would see this practice ended and the Czerka presence on the planet eradicated. Now, however, was the time to change to other topics.

"How much has Czerka explored the planet?"

"Only as much as it was necessary to discern the best way to make a profit from our presence. The topmost level is, of course, familiar. The lower levels, unfortunately, are much more dangerous for our employees. We do have some patrols which descend down as far as the Shadowlands. Tachs, especially, can be harvested only from the forest floor. Beyond that, we confine our activities to those locations which allow us to maximize our business effort here."

"Can you tell us anything else?" Bastila pressed.

The alien seemed to think about it for a moment before responding. "That is all that Czerka is truly concerned about. The planet shows a distinct lack of civilization except for the locals, if you can call what they have civilization. There have been times when we have actually detected anomalous readings from the planet's surface, but our patrols have not found anything to explain them, when they return at all."

Exchanging a glance with Bastila, Jaran pressed a little further. "That may be exactly what we are looking for. My companion and I are interested in various archeological sites which can be found on planets around the galaxy, and we recently discovered something on another planet which led us to believe that a similar site exists on Kashyyyk. Has Czerka explored the Shadowlands enough to have come across archeological relics of any type?"

The Ithorian regarded them for several moments in silence before speaking. "Your dress and weapons mark you as Jedi. Why would the Jedi be interested in archeology?"

Prevaricating, Jaran responded, "The Jedi order has an interest in many things. Knowledge of the past helps us understand how we have all evolved, and can help us to avoid repeating the mistakes of other, older, civilizations."

"The Jedi Order's business is not something we normally explain to others," Bastila spoke up. "This particular endeavor is a joint effort between the order and the Republic, and we would appreciate any assistance you could impart."

"Should you not be out fighting the Sith?" the Ithorian asked bluntly.

"Perhaps this is part of that effort," Jaran responded.

"Perhaps," the alien responded in the equivalent of a verbal shrug. "It matters not, as Czerka officially does not support either of the warring factions. Beyond that, I must tell you that I cannot help you any further. As I have previously stated, our exploration of the surface is minimal at best. Czerka has not come across any archeological sites of any kind on the surface of Edean. I apologize that I could not be more help."

"Is there any way to get down to the surface?"

The Ithorian stopped and thought for a moment before responding. "Though I do not have much traffic with the elements of the company that visit the surface, I understand that the Wookiees operate a lift somewhere in the vicinity of the nearby village. I suggest you ask them."

"My thanks," Jaran responded, before leading Bastila out of the offices.

"Perhaps we should take Zaalbar with us?" Bastila asked as they departed.

"It would seem to make sense," replied Jaran. "He'll know where the village is and the best way to approach the Wookiees."

They were just about to head back toward the ship when Jaran heard his name called.

"Jaran!" a voice called, and the two Jedi turned to see Juhani and Mission approaching them at a dead run.

"Jaran, Zaalbar has been kidnapped!"

In exasperation, Jaran turned his full attention to the young Twi'lek. "Mission, this is becoming a bit of a habit, don't you think?"

Blushing slightly, Mission nevertheless returned Jaran's stare defiantly. It fell to Juhani to explain what had happened.

"We ran into some Wookiees soon after we left the ship. They seemed to recognize Zaalbar, and they demanded he go with them to their village."

"We would have fought for him, but Zaalbar told us not to," Mission chimed in. "He told us that he had something to do at their village, and that we should go and find you."

The Wookiee, it appeared, had a talent for running afoul of those who had a score to settle with him.

"They went to the village?" Jaran queried.

"Yeah. We can't leave him, Jaran. Big Z's my friend."

"Mission, I have no intention of leaving him," Jaran responded kindly. "Even if I didn't understand my obligations toward Zaalbar due to his swearing of a lifedebt, I would never leave a companion behind. We were heading toward the village anyway."

"Then let's get going, already!"

"Hold on a second, Mission," replied Jaran with a laugh. He turned towards Bastila. "I think our best opportunity to find the Star Map with a minimum of fuss is through the Wookiees."

"It would seem to be so. But I think there are other things going on here which require our attention as Jedi."

Jaran nodded, turning to Juhani, who was listening closely to what was happening. "Juhani, we'll head out to the Wookiee village for Zaalbar, and try to find something about the Star Map from them. In the meantime, I'd like you to head back to the platform and try to find Carth and Canderous. Czerka is trafficking in Wookiee slaves, and we are going to need to do something about it before we leave."

Juhani's nostrils flared in response—Cathar were more than familiar with the slave trade practice, having been subjected to it themselves at times in their history. Jaran knew that Juhani would look upon the practice as a personal affront. Together with Carth and Canderous, they should be able to find out something about what was happening on the planet, including weaknesses to exploit in the Czerka operation here.

"See what you can find out about their operation, how they get them off planet, who buys them—anything we can use at all. We think the Wookiees are most likely to have information about the Star Map; we will ask them while we go and rescue Zaalbar."

Nodding, the Cathar turned and left to go back toward the spaceport, leaving the two Jedi with the blue-skinned Twi'lek who was looking at them with some suspicion.

"You're not thinking of leaving me behind, are you? Because if you are, you've got another think coming, buster."

Chuckling, Jaran motioned for his companions to precede him. "Believe me, Mission; knowing your protective instinct toward Zaalbar, I'd never even consider it."

"Good."

* * *

It was the work of a few moments to determine the direction in which the village was located. The upper levels of Kashyyyk were connected by a network of platforms built into the sides of the trees, and though the platforms were extensive, they were relatively simple to navigate. The Czerka operation had taken over one section of the walkway and converted it into a spaceport and headquarters for their operations there. While the upper most regions of the forest were not considered to be excessively dangerous—at least in comparison with the lower levels—still, Czerka had built strong gates, shutting themselves off from the rest of the network. It was to the nearby gate that they were directed and told that the Wookiee village could be found some thirty minutes walk down the pathway.

The guard captain at the gate had some choice words to say to them as they exited the Czerka compound, the chief among them seeming to be that the company would not waste any resources coming to rescue them if they got into any trouble. Jaran barely spared the officious man a glance before directing them to open the gate, a service they provided, though not without a certain amount of grumbling. Truly it seemed as though every minor official of every government or company thought higher of themselves than they warranted, a situation Jaran felt was largely due to the phenomenon of small, unimportant people being given visible, yet unimportant positions. It seemed to bring out the worst hubris in all beings.

The Great Walkway on Kashyyyk was long and twisting, winding its way around the gargantuan trees, sometimes the distance around a tree trunk taking them several minutes to transverse before they would exit around the other side. It was constructed of the wood of the Wroshyr trees, and was a strange mixture of wide thoroughfares—sometimes widening into great wide open platforms—while in other places narrowing to passes which were barely wider than Jaran's two lightsabers spread out at arm's length on either side. Clearly it was meant as a way for the local denizens to traverse the distances in comfort, and not to transport large shipments of goods. There were no speeders or any other methods of transportation—the only others they saw along the pathways were afoot, and though there were a few Wookiees here and there, they mostly met other Czerka workers, most of whom ignored them, or at most, greeted them with a nod before quickly going about their business.

About halfway into their journey to the village, they came across a troop of four Czerka workers all standing over the body of a Wookiee—a body which bore fresh blaster wounds. They had narrowly missed saving a Wookiee from slavery and death.

As they strode up, the captain turned and regarded them, half suspicious and half fearful. "Move along, move along!" he commanded imperiously. "This is Czerka business."

"What's going on here?" Jaran demanded.

"Nothing," the captain blustered. "This captive became rebellious and had to be put down. We can always get another one, so nothing lost."

Incensed by the casual manner in which this captain treated the loss of a life, Jaran glared at him imperiously. "Perhaps you and your crew had best go off planet and find something else to do," Jaran told him, infusing his voice with a compulsion to obey. "There is nothing but trouble here. Get out while you can."

The captain's eyes glazed slightly, and he nodded his head vigorously. "We should go off planet and find something else to do."

His subordinates were watching him with some worry and Jaran with some awe. "We'll take him and go," one of them promised fervently.

Jaran nodded impatiently to the man, watching impassively as they gathered their things and set off down the path. He sighed and glanced down at the dead Wookiee, wishing that they had been just a few minutes earlier, knowing that they could have saved him with little difficulty.

"That was… that was pretty impressive, Jaran," stuttered a wide-eyed Mission.

"I've learned a thing or two since Taris," Jaran quipped in response, prompting a jerky nod from the Twi'lek. "Come on, Mission, I'm still the same Jaran—I just have a few more skills than I did before."

Bastila was following the conversation and broke in at that point. "Why did you send them off the planet?"

"Because I knew that you wouldn't let me do what I _really_ wanted to do to them," Jaran quipped, earning a roll of the eyes from Bastila. "It seemed like the best choice," he continued. "I get them off the planet where they can't kidnap any other Wookiees, and they survive my wrath."

Jaran was only half joking, a situation which Bastila appeared to understand. She said nothing in response to his words—instead she nodded and raised another question. "Well, what do we do with the body?"

"Nothing," said Jaran shortly. "I have no idea at all regarding Wookiee burial customs. We'll tell the Wookiees in the village and let them handle it. For now, let's just move him out of the middle of the path."

Using the Force, Jaran levitated the body to the side of the pathway, arranging the limbs in what he hoped was a natural position. The three companions moved away from the body, now travelling in complete silence. Another fifteen minutes walking and a few forks in the pathway brought them to another large gate set in the path, guarded by a large brown Wookiee—large even by Wookiee standards.

Growling, the Wookiee confronted them, demanding to know what they wanted.

"We understand that a friend of ours, Zaalbar, was brought here a short time ago. We would like to see him."

The Wookiee regarded them suspiciously before answering. "So you are the one who soiled our world by bringing the mad-claw here on your ship. He is here—he was brought to the village a few minutes ago by the order of Chuundar. You are fortunate that Chuundar has allowed you access to our village, otherwise you would never be allowed to enter."

The Wookiee turned from them and opened the gate, motioning to a Wookiee inside and speaking to him in a low tone of voice. "Chordaar will guide you to mighty Chuundar's presence. Follow him closely and do not stray."

Jaran nodded in agreement, but before they left he motioned to the Wookiee and in a low tone, explained the scene they had come across on the walkway. The Wookiee growled dangerously in reply and in short, clipped tones gave Jaran to understand that the matter would be taken care of. Jaran wisely left it alone at that point.

At first glance the village appeared to be nothing more than an extension of the Great Walkway. However, moments after they entered, the pathway sloped down and to the right, before leveling off and opening up into a large square, which appeared to function as a village gathering area, and a place for the inhabitants to gather and socialize at other times. Branching off from this main square at various intervals, Jaran could see several other walkways, some of which continued for a ways before branching off themselves, moving up and down, meandering around trees and, from what Jaran could tell, many ending at a door set into the massive trunk of one of the trees. It was evident that the Wookiees, for the most part, carved their homes in the trees, rather than construct them and set them in the branches. There were certainly advantages to that policy, though Jaran could think of several disadvantages as well.

The Wookiee population was, as was to be expected, quite in evidence in this corner of the forest. There were many of the large aliens moving about in their daily tasks, or talking softly in small groups here and there. The passage of Jaran and his companions did cause a bit of a stir, though for the most part, the Wookiees did nothing more than regard them as they passed, equal parts suspicion and curiosity, if Jaran were to judge.

They were taken to a tree on the far side of the square which appeared to be even more massive than its fellows. Into the side of the tree was carved a large and ornate door. The Wookiee spoke briefly with another who stood guard, and then the door was immediately opened and the companions ushered inside.

As Jaran had expected, the inside of the tree turned out to be the chieftain's hall, though it was perhaps a little more understated than other such domains Jaran had seen. Unlike Davik's ostentatious throne on a lifted dais, there was no such ornament in the Wookiee hall, and there were only a scattering of chairs sitting in various corners of the massive room. Wookiees, Jaran noted, were not big on creature comforts, tending more towards the utilitarian, not to mention displays which emphasized their great size and strength. A chair—even what other species would consider a throne, or a symbol of a leader's authority—would likely be considered to be a needless comfort which would denote softness. Jaran could not imagine a Wookiee would wish to portray such an image.

Immediately upon entering the room, Jaran's eyes found the form of his Wookiee friend. He was standing on the far side of the room confronting another Wookiee, who stood where the throne would have stood, had it been present. They approached and sized this other alien up, noting the darker, almost black, fur, and the fact that though most of the Wookiees towered over Jaran, this one only topped his height by a few centimeters at best. He regarded them, however, with all the air of arrogance and disdain one would expect from a ruler—no doubt this was Chuundar. What he wanted with them—and more specifically with Zaalbar—was much more difficult to divine.

"I see your… friends are here," the Wookiee roared in what Jaran considered to be as close to a sneer as he had ever heard from one of the great aliens. Understanding Shyriiwook was one thing, but it was almost impossible to completely understand their inflections and tones if one was not a Wookiee himself. The disdain in Chuundar's voice at that statement, though, was unmistakable. At Chuundar's motion, the various Wookiee guards withdrew a distance away; close enough to assist at a moment's notice, but far enough away that they would not be overheard.

"Well then, don't skulk," he continued, peering at Jaran intently. "Come closer. You have been given leave to supplicate yourself before the mighty and wise Chuundar. Your kind is not often allowed in these hallowed grounds."

He may be a chieftain, but he was also a braggart, far too impressed with himself and his own power. In the grand cosmic scheme of things, this Wookiee chieftain was a mere speck on the fabric of the galaxy, and Jaran longed to tell him. Pulling down pompous blowhards was becoming somewhat of a hobby, it seemed.

"I am honored to be admitted to your presence," Jaran responded, diametrically opposite to his thoughts of the moment.

"I am sure you are," wuffed the Wookiee. "I understand I have you to thank for bringing my wayward brother back to my side."

_That_ piece of information nearly caused Jaran to do a double take. Zaalbar was brother to a chieftain? If so, why had he left Kashyyyk at all? And why had he not told them?

"Ah, I see you are surprised," Chuundar continued. "Zaalbar has not told you much of his home or his past and his people. At least in that, he has kept to Wookiee ways."

Zaalbar's growl was menacing. "_I_ have kept to the traditions of my people. Perhaps it is not I who should have reason to be ashamed."

"I have done nothing more than to protect my people when you and my father would not."

"You work with the slavers, betraying our people, our very way of life to them. You are no better than they are."

The Wookiee shook his head. "I had hoped that you could be brought to reason, Zaalbar, but my faith in such a happy outcome is waning quickly."

"What outcome is there, other than to see you removed from your position and reviled as a traitor?"

A barking laugh issued from Chuundar's mouth. "You don't really think that anyone will believe you or follow you, do you? You've been gone for a long time, Zaalbar, and things are different now. When you left you were exiled as a mad-claw without honor. You have no voice here, while I am the Chieftain of our people.

"You are nothing more than a runt!"

Chuundar bared his teeth, his fury visible for even non-Wookiees to see clearly. "I'll thank you not to address me in such a tone, Zaalbar," Chuundar snarled. "_I_ am in charge here!"

The sounds of several other roars from the nearby guards punctuated Chuundar's threat. It seemed as though calling a Wookiee a runt was a heavy insult. And while Zaalbar was not intimidated in the slightest, Jaran felt it prudent to defuse the situation and seek an amicable solution to the standoff.

"Why have you brought us here?" Jaran asked, focusing the Wookiee chieftain's attention back on him.

"You should listen to the human, Zaalbar," Chuundar said. "He seems to have more common sense than you ever had."

He then turned his attention to Jaran. "So, Jaran Kalind, you have come before me, seeking my brother, and now I must deal with you."

"You have informants among the Czerka, I see," said Jaran, not the least bit surprised that this Wookiee owned some information about them.

"It is merely good business," Chuundar declared. "But you did not truly think that you could walk the pathways of Kashyyyk and not be observed? I have had climbers watching you and your ship almost since you landed."

"Now that we've covered the fact that you know of us, can we get down to business? What is it that you want with us?"

"I did not bring you here," Chuundar responded. "You came to me on your own. I merely have something I wish to… discuss with Zaalbar. You are irrelevant."

"You must know that I will not leave without Zaalbar."

"You have no say here—I am in charge!" Chuundar retorted, his voice dripping with menace. "I suggest you do not make demands. It just so happens that I have a small matter I would have you attend to while I deal with my wayward brother."

Out of the corner of his eye Jaran surveyed the room, considering the odds arrayed against them. Chuundar was a smaller sized Wookiee to be certain, but Jaran could not imagine he did not possess the prodigious strength of his species, and there were another four Wookiees in easy calling distance. Between he and Bastila—along with judicious use of the Force—Jaran felt they could take down five Wookiees. However, Zaalbar appeared to have been relieved of his weapons, and they had Mission to consider as well. And this did not even take into account that they would almost certainly have to fight their way from the village should they take this course of action.

It was most certainly not prudent to turn the local population of the planet against them before they had even begun their search for the Star Map. It seemed that the only option available was to play along with Chuundar's game for the time being.

A quick glance at Bastila confirmed that she had come to the same determination.

It was Bastila who answered. "It appears that we have little choice in the matter. What would you have us do?"

"A very simple matter, actually," replied Chuundar with the Wookiee equivalent of a smirk. "Another Wookiee has suffered Zaalbar's fate and been exiled as a mad-claw. He fled and now skulks about in the Shadowlands."

"This cannot be all," Jaran protested. "Surely there are other exiled Wookiees in the Shadowlands."

"You are correct. But this Wookiee persists in attacking our Czerka allies during their expeditions to the Shadowlands, which I cannot allow."

"Why do you not send some of your warriors to deal with him then?" Bastila asked.

"It is a… delicate matter, and I cannot trust my people to deal with it properly. Jedi, on the other hand, have a reputation for being very handy with those light swords you carry. You could deal with him swiftly and quietly, and with a minimum of fuss, which is exactly what I am looking for.

"When you find him, you had best deal with him quickly. He has been down in the Shadowlands for a long time, and has become quite feral—there is no reasoning with him."

There was something more going on here, but Jaran could not see the Wookiee's game for the life of him. Whatever this exile was, it was obvious that Chuundar did not wish for his people to know anything of him, and there were only a few reasons why he would feel this way. The most likely reason was that the Wookiee was some kind of threat to Chuundar's continued rule, real or imagined. They would need to traverse carefully, as it was obvious that Chuundar's word could not be trusted merely on his word alone.

"And why would I do your dirty work for you?" Jaran asked, hoping to coax a little more information from Chuundar.

Unfortunately, the Wookiee was not in a giving mood. "Because I hold all the cards," he responded with a toothy grin. "You may leave if you want—I cannot stop you, and Czerka would almost certainly be unhappy if I tried. But Wookiees are my responsibility, and they would not care what I do with my one of own people."

Jaran again shared a glance with Bastila, but Zaalbar was not yet willing to be silent.

"Chuundar, where is my father?"

Chuundar bared his teeth. "Why do you care? He was the one who exiled you."

"He's my father, Chuundar. He's _our_ father! You will tell me where he is!"

"I haven't seen Freyyr in many years," Chuundar said contemptuously. "He went mad and attacked me when he discovered the slavers. Then he went and challenged the slavers alone. He has not been seen by any of my people since. You would do well to forget him.

"_I_ am the power here now!" Chuundar roared with an almost feral fervor. "The people follow _me!_ I will continue to lead our people, but there are prices to pay."

The hint of insanity was there in Chuundar's eyes and Jaran felt it was best not to contradict him. They would go down to the Shadowlands and they would find this exile, and they would see why Chuundar wanted him dead so badly. Perhaps then they would unravel the mystery then.

"Very well, then," said Jaran. "We will seek out this exile for you. If we do so, you will release Zaalbar to accompany us when we leave?"

The Chieftain glanced between them, and nodded. "I will, assuming I have not been able to convince him of the wisdom of my course. You never know—he may actually decide to stay with us."

Jaran nodded before moving to the reason for their presence on Kashyyyk. "I am hoping that you can also help us with another matter."

"Yes, I have heard of your quest to find this alien technology," Chuundar growled in response. "I know of no such location on the surface, though that really does not mean anything. The undergrowth is so dense in places that you could be within only a few meters and never know it was there. You will have to find this device on your own."

Disappointed, Jaran nevertheless thanked the Wookiee for his assistance.

"You may stay the night in Rwookrrorro," Chuundar continued in what he must have thought was a very magnanimous gesture. "The day is getting late, and it would not do to enter the Shadowlands at night."

Chuundar then motioned to one of the Wookiees stationed nearby and commanded they be led to an empty hut. They were not able to leave before Mission, though clearly nervous with what had happened to that point, spoke up hesitantly.

"Umm… Mr. Chieftain, Sir, I was wondering… I think I'd rather stay with Zaalbar if that's all right. He's my friend, and I would be in my friends' way in the Shadowlands."

Chuckling with some amusement, Chuundar nodded his head. "It is well that my brother has such a devoted friend. Of course you may stay in the village with Zaalbar, young Twi'lek. Perhaps you can aid me in talking some sense into my brother."

Mission bowed her head, and thanked him gratefully. The visitors were then shown to a nearby dwelling where they would spend the night. They quickly contacted their companions back at the ship, telling them what had happened, promising to contact them again if they learned anything. Carth and Canderous had not been able to find any mention of what they were looking for—unfortunate, yet not unexpected. Jaran closed their communication by agreeing to contact them if anything came up. They then settled in for the night.

* * *

The next day, they were brought again before Chuundar, who gave them instructions on how to find the platform which would take them to the surface, and sent on their way. After bidding farewell to Zaalbar and Mission, the two Jedi left the village and immediately made their way to the location specified by the Wookiee chieftain.

Though he was loathe to leave a companion behind, even in a village surrounded by his own people, Jaran had simply been unable to think of any way in which they could affect his release without bringing the wrath of the local population down on them. Until they were able to discover the secret of this exile, they were bound to continue this path which had been chosen for them. Whether it would lead them to the Star Map in the bargain was uncertain, but it would undoubtedly be a long search if it did not. Jaran was not looking forward to that in the slightest.

"Jaran?"

Turning, Jaran smiled at the young woman at his side. Bastila had been silent all morning, and more especially since their arrival at the village the previous day. The atmosphere at the village, the feeling of being observed, had not exactly been conducive to casual conversation or planning. Jaran, Mission and Zaalbar had largely been quiet as well.

"What do you think is his game?"

"Chuundar?"

At Bastila's nod he shrugged. "Obviously he considers this Wookiee in the Shadowlands to be a threat to his power, and not just some 'nuisance' like he said. Beyond that? It's difficult to tell."

Bastila regarded him closely. "I assume you have already considered the possibility that he won't let Zaalbar go at all."

"I have," Jaran confirmed. It was not difficult to come to such a conclusion. Chuundar had sent them on a quest to the most dangerous part of the planet to do away with a 'nuisance' who they suspected could be a threat to his rule. If some nameless Wookiee in the Shadowlands was a threat, how much more of a threat would his own brother be?

"The only choice we appear to have is to play his little game. He doesn't know us very well if he expects us to just kill this Wookiee without a second thought, though."

"But what if this Wookiee has gone feral like he said?"

"We'll deal with it when the time comes," said Jaran.

They walked in silence for several moments, Jaran surreptitiously studying his companion. Bastila was given off a faint sense of unease, as though something was bothering her. Reviewing his actions since they had arrived on Kashyyyk, Jaran could not think of anything he had done which would affect her or concern her about the state of his adherence to the light, but with her, anything could be possible. She was still uptight and focused on the quest and her Jedi ideals.

"Jaran?"

Startled, Jaran glanced over at Bastila to see her regarding him intently.

"I sensed you were thinking of something deep," Jaran responded with a chuckle.

Ruefully, Bastila shook her head at his weak attempt at a joke. "I did want to mention this afternoon in the Czerka office."

If anything would have gotten her back up, the incident with the Wookiee in the Czerka office would have been it. Knowing it was better for her to just have her say, Jaran motioned her to continue.

"I just wanted to remind you," she said with some hesitance, "that we need to be focused on our mission. Your desire to help those in unfortunate circumstances is commendable, but we have more important matters to consider."

"I hope you are not suggesting that we turn a blind eye to the needy."

Jaran's statement, while pointed, was not accusatory, and Bastila did not appear to take it as such. It was part of the Jedi ideals, after all, to fight for the rights of those who could not fight for themselves, and Bastila would never renounce such a basic tenet.

"Of course not," she said. "But we need to pick our fights and do our best to remain inconspicuous. Our mission is of paramount importance, after all. We simply do not have the capability to right all wrongs we come across, not matter how much we would like to become involved."

"Agreed. And I'd like you to know that I was not at the point of losing control yesterday."

"I know," was Bastila's reply. She said nothing further, turning her attention instead to the path in front of them. Jaran could not help but grin at her when she was not looking—it was a reversal of roles to be certain, and one he thought was highly ironic. But it would not do to have her discover the direction of his thoughts—she would not be impressed in the slightest.

The lift to the forest floor was only minutes away from the Wookiee village, though why it was not located in the village itself Jaran could not tell. It would seem to be much more convenient if it were. Perhaps, though, it was not there as it was too visible a reminder of the dangers of the planet, which only the bravest and fittest challenged.

The Wookiee at the lift said little to them. He merely motioned to a platform which was moored to the side of the walkway, secured by a series of cables all attached to a large one from which the platform hung. This cable wound around a winch which was so massive that it was almost thicker than Jaran was tall, coiled about the winch for kilometers, unless Jaran missed his guess. It was truly a long way down to the forest floor.

"Keep toward the center of the platform and be still while I am lowering you," the Wookiee growled at them as they entered the platform. "There are creatures whose attention you do not wish to attract."

With that ominous warning, the Wookiee started up the winch and the platform slipped from the walkway, beginning its descent into the depths.

It was truly a _long_ way down to the forest floor. The descent appeared to be interminable, though their Wookiee guide was efficient and lowered them steadily and swiftly. However, it took above an hour for them to descend the entire distance and as they continued down, the air became closer and the light dimmer as the amount of foliage above them increased.

When they finally reached the bottom, they embarked into a dim world of shadows and darkness, not unlike the Undercity of Taris. The air was stuffy and close, and there was not a breeze to lessen the oppressive feeling of weight of the branches above them. The floor of the forest was littered with swampy puddles and clingy muck which oozed and stuck to their boots, making walking difficult and tedious. And other than the trees which towered above them, there was not much foliage to be had, other than a few straggling bushes, and a few strands of hardy weeds drooping limply in the gloom. It appeared that they had arrived in the Shadowlands.


	15. Chapter 15

**Previously:** The Ebon Hawk arrives on Kashyyyk. Jaran and Bastila discover some of Czerka's activities on the planet, learn that Zaalbar is being held by Chuundar, and are forced to agree to find an exile who is causing havoc for Czerka on the surface. After staying the night in the Wookiee village, they descend to the Shadowlands.

* * *

**Chapter 15 – A Shadowed Path**

Though Jaran's first impression of the surface of Kashyyyk had been that it was very similar to that of Taris, it became readily apparent that the similarities were completely superficial. The surface of Taris was characterized by the ever-present smell of decay, the massive bases of her great towers, and the threat of the mindless mutants who had once been sentient. By contrast, Kashyyyk was vibrant and alive, with many varieties of foliage, though stunted due to the lack of sunlight. And whereas Taris was quiet and silent as the grave—save the eerie cries of the occasional rakghoul—Kashyyyk was anything but silent, as its teeming wildlife and the occasional hint of a breath of air through the foliage made for a low hum, interrupted periodically by the call of one of its larger denizens. It was not a hospitable place, but the landscape possessed its own kind of beauty, though dark.

In truth, they did not actually see much of the wildlife—the foliage was so dense for the most part that this lack was hardly surprising. As the Czerka had warned them, the small monkey-like tachs were in abundance, and appeared to have no fear of them whatsoever. Of the other animals, they had relatively little contact, which was likely for the best. Jaran knew that the forest floor was a breeding ground for many dangerous creatures and though he knew that coming into contact with some of them was inevitable, avoidance, wherever possible, was still the best policy.

The monotony of walking through the landscape—though it should _not_ have been monotonous, given the location and the seriousness of the situation—was such that after a few moments of walking in silence, Jaran turned to Bastila for some relief.

"What about yourself, Bastila?" he queried. "You've interrogated me about my background, but thus far you've said relatively little about yourself."

The Jedi's eyes flickered to Jaran, and she frowned at him. "Do you think this is really the time to be discussing my background?"

"Why not?" said Jaran with a shrug. "We're both skilled enough to keep an eye on things while we walk. I'd like to know more about you."

"Well, I guess your curiosity is understandable."

Though she had agreed to speak of her past, Bastila remained silent for some moments, quite obviously, Jaran thought and sensed through the bond, what to say and how to say it. It was a legacy of her closed manner which, though she had certainly loosened up in the time Jaran had known her, was still ingrained in her personality.

"I was born on Talvarin," she began somewhat hesitantly.

"That's in the core, isn't it?" Jaran prompted.

"Yes, it is, though it is not as large or important a world as the Corellian system or Alderaan. Talravin is a society renown for its artists and musicians—we have never been a leading player on the galactic stage."

"I've heard of Talravin, Bastila, though I've never visited," Jaran remarked gently. "It sounds like a wonderful place to visit."

Bastila favored him with a smile before continuing. "I can't say that I remember much of it, of course. I was discovered to be Force sensitive at a young age, and joined the Order. I have not returned to Talravin since, nor have I had any contact with my family."

Nodding, Jaran reflected that he had expected nothing less. They walked a few more moments in silence before Bastila continued, and knowing that the last time he had brought up her family she had not responded well, Jaran was content to allow her to dictate the pace and the subject of their conversation.

"I suppose that even though I was born on Talravin, I remember much less of it than one would suspect, even given my youth. We were not often in residence there during the early years of my life."

"You travelled?"

"Yes," Bastila confirmed, "though perhaps not exactly by choice."

Peering at her, Jaran noticed how she had become somewhat hesitant, and her Force sense had withdrawn into herself to a certain extent. They were approaching the subjects that he suspected that she did not wish to discuss, and he wondered if she would even continue at all.

It was a mark of how much she had changed and opened up over the past months, as she abruptly sighed and her end of the bond once again relaxed. "I understand that you have always been on good terms with all of your family, Jaran, and it is a credit to you all that you were able to live so harmoniously. Tranquility was not a quality to which you could describe my family."

"You were not on good terms with them?"

"I was not on good terms with my mother." Bastila stopped and considered her words before she clarified. "On second thought, I should amend that. I was my father's darling and we positively doted on one another. My mother was not exactly of a warm and affectionate disposition. I was old enough to resent the way she treated my father, but it was not until I grew older and wiser in the ways of the galaxy that I began to see her as she truly was."

Again Jaran kept his own council, allowing Bastila to relate the story in her own time. This brief conversation, however, was a fascinating glimpse into the factors which had molded this woman. A severe and distant mother as a role model could not but have contributed to her own distance as a woman, regardless of how affectionate and supportive her father had been.

"Mother was a grasping, selfish woman, pushing my father into treasure hunting for her own gain, whittling my father's entire fortune down to almost nothing. I spent the greater part of my early years on a ship bound for the next great treasure trove, or hunkered down in some camp while my father fruitlessly searched for enough to finally satisfy her need for riches. I believe she was actually glad when I was given to the Jedi, though my father was absolutely heartbroken."

"You sound like you miss him."

Bastila shrugged. "I did at first, but I have come to the understanding of the wisdom of a complete break between Jedi and their families. Ultimately, it is easier that way, and makes it possible for the new Jedi to focus on their training."

Knowing better than to disagree with her—particularly when her end of the bond bespoke her slightly melancholy mood this talk of her family had engendered—Jaran opted to silently commiserate with her, while turning his attention back to the landscape through which they travelled.

It was not truly a path they followed—in reality the path was simply the absence of any other possible route, the undergrowth being far too dense to try forcing their way through it.

"How do you think we can find this Wookiee?" Bastila asked. She seemed to have overcome her earlier morose thoughts to once again focus on the mission.

"Luck?" was Jaran's snarky reply.

Bastila smiled briefly in response. "We both know there is no luck; there is only the Force," was her cheeky reply, echoing one of the masters' favorite lines.

Jaran returned her grin. "In that case, we may want to begin praying to whatever deity the locals believe in. Failing that, I figure that if we wander around down here long enough, we may attract his attention."

"That is not exactly a strategy which takes into account our lack of time. That doesn't even mention how difficult it will be to reason with him if we provoke him to attack us."

"Do you have anything better?"

"Unfortunately not," Bastila admitted.

"There are Czerka operatives reputedly working down here. Perhaps we can find out his usual haunts from them."

Bastila conceded this as a possibility and then fell silent for as they continued on into the gloom. It was some fifteen more minutes before the unrelieved oppression was changed by something alien to the landscape.

The sound of something out of place was the first indication that there was something out of the ordinary occurring in the depths of Kashyyyk. It was a humming sound, mixed in with the occasional low roar off in the distance which ebbed and flowed, becoming more and more distinct as they approached. It was not very long before it became very clear that the roars were that of an angry katarn, while the humming sound could only be…

"Is that a lightsaber?" Bastila asked as Jaran turned to ask her the same question.

"It sounds like it," was Jaran's reply. "Could Juhani somehow have gotten down here ahead of us?"

There was nothing to do but continue on to find out. It became quickly apparent that the Jedi ahead of them was not Juhani. For one thing, the green glow of the lightsaber was in contrast to Juhani's, whose lightsaber was a deep blue. And furthermore, once they came into sight of the battle zone, they could see that the Cathar was nowhere in evidence.

Instead, the Jedi in the small clearing was a dark skinned human male of medium height. He was dressed in traditional Jedi robes, though they were perhaps a little tattered from age and excessive use, and it was clear that he was well versed in the use of his lightsaber, as he was currently using it to hold two large katarns at bay. He was completely bald on the top of his head while sporting a neatly trimmed but graying mustache which framed his mouth down to his chin, with small tuft of hair down in the center of his chin giving him the illusion of a full goatee.

Exchanging a glance with Bastila, Jaran moved closer to assist the unknown Jedi. As it turned out, their interference proved completely unnecessary. The Jedi pivoted neatly, allowing one katarn to speed past him as it charged where it met its companion, neatly goring it through its side. The wounded katarn let out a howl of agony, which turned to a gurgling moan as the Jedi ran it neatly through the throat. The second katarn turned immediately and renewed its assault, only to fall when the Jedi neatly executed a front flip and buried his lightsaber through the top of the creature's head. The end of the battle had taken only a few seconds.

The lightsaber was deactivated with a flourish, and the strange Jedi turned to face them. His face was weathered and his eyes shone with a twinkle of suppressed amusement, an expression Jaran thought he likely often sported himself, making him instantly easier with the other man. He was likely more than double Jaran's age, though obviously still spry, based on the performance he had just given them, and he regarded them with some curiosity. Why he had come, Jaran wanted to know; none was to know of their mission, certainly not one who had managed to somehow beat them to their first destination. The fact of his presence was disconcerting, though them man himself was certainly not threatening.

"Hello," Japan began somewhat hesitantly.

The man merely grunted at them and regarded them severely. "More tourists come to see the crazy old man, are you?"

Nonplused, Jaran stared back at the man who began to chuckle. "What? Katarn got your tongue?"

Yes, this man was definitely trouble. "What are you doing here?" Jaran asked bluntly. "Did the council send you here ahead of us? Why didn't they just send you with us?"

The man's chuckling continued and he shook his head with apparent amusement. "I believe you may be laboring under some misapprehension."

He stopped and looked about, apparently considering for several moments before he turned back to them. "I suppose you have some questions for me, but the middle of the Shadowlands is not the best place to sit and discuss like we were old friends in some cantina. Follow me—I have a place where we can speak not far from here."

Without giving Jaran a chance to respond, the man turned and began walking away from them. He never even paused to look back and see if they were following him.

Jaran exchanged a glance with Bastila, who shrugged in answer to his unspoken question, and set out after the strange man. He led them through the Shadowlands at a brisk pace, though he stopped every so often, motioning them to stop as well, as he studied the landscape. Sometimes the pauses only lasted for a few seconds, and sometimes for several moments before he continued on into the gloom.

Throughout the journey no one spoke and Jaran was forced to re-examine his original assessment of the situation. The man's mannerisms and careful, considered manner in which he led them unerringly through the myriad options in the undergrowth bespoke a long familiarity with the Shadowlands. That coupled with his words earlier suggested that he had either been here before or perhaps even lived here. In fact he reminded Jaran of Mission as she had led them through the Taris Undercity. Perhaps that was why the council had sent him—a Jedi with a familiarity with this inhospitable landscape was an invaluable asset.

And yet, if the council had such an expert available, why would they not send him along from the beginning? Had he had to come from another location? Or was this another one of the Jedi's interminable tests?

Jaran could not believe the council would act in such a manner. This quest was not a test with which to judge a new Jedi; it was a mission which could ultimately decide the fate of the galaxy. For the council to act in so cavalier or careless a manner was something Jaran could not fathom. No, there must be some other explanation. Perhaps his presence here was nothing more than happenstance. And though the man was unlike any other Jedi Jaran had ever met, he had already shown his competence, so his presence may turn out to be a boon, especially if he had some familiarity with the landscape, as seemed to be the case.

After a journey which seemed to consume some time, but which was in reality no more than a few minutes—Jaran's thoughts had undoubtedly made the time appear to go more slowly—they arrived at a most unexpected sight. Nestled in amongst the trees—and to a certain extent carved within one of the great wroshyrs—was a small domicile. It appeared to be constructed largely of the wood of the forest and would have been undistinguishable from the rest of the forest if not for the narrow window which ran along the top of the outer wall of the structure, allowing light from the interior to shine out onto the landscape.

The man did not hesitate, but led them to a door cleverly concealed along a side wall and entered the dwelling, beckoning them to follow.

"Well, here we are," he said in a conversational tone. "It may not look like much, but it's home."

He waved them toward a side of the room while he entered what appeared to be a small kitchen area. "Pull up a stump and make yourself comfortable, while I get us something to drink."

The dwelling was small, but homey, featuring the aforementioned kitchen, a small bed, a single high-backed chair, and a table with some low stumps sitting around it, all made of the same wood as everything else they had seen on the planet. It was to the table they had been directed, and the two Jedi sat on stumps and leaned up against the table.

While the mysterious Jedi busied himself in the kitchen the two Jedi examined their surroundings and communicated with each other in a series of glances, expressive looks, and the occasional whisper. There was something going on here which neither of them quite understood, and they were careful to keep an eye on everything.

Finally, the man reentered the room, carrying a tray laden with three earthenware mugs—something not often seen in civilization in the galaxy—along with a teapot made of the same material. From the spout of the teapot, a lazy line of steam rose, and with it, an earthy scent, the likes of which Jaran had never encountered. The man set the tray down on the table and sat on a stump himself, regarding his guests with inquisitive eyes.

"You said this is home?" Jaran asked as the man sat down.

"It is," was the simple reply. "For more years than I care to admit, actually. I did all the work myself—a man can take pride in the works of his own hand."

Looking around, Jaran noticed the workmanship of the items in the room, including the chair he had noticed before, which appeared to have been carved from a single piece of wood.

"You appear to have a talent for carving," he noted. "That chair must have taken some time to complete."

"Well, it's not as though I don't have the time," the man said with a chuckle. "And you should have seen some of my earliest attempts—pathetic, really.

"But enough of that," he said after a moment. "I suppose you have some questions of me. Perhaps, though, I should be asking _you_ what you are doing down in the depths of Kashyyyk, hmm? Not many Jedi visit this out of the way corner of the galaxy, and fewer still descend to the depths of the Shadowlands."

"Are you not a Jedi yourself?" Jaran asked, his impatience making him blunt.

The strange Jedi merely chuckled. "Kids these days. You have to hit them over the head before they can see what is right in front of their faces."

"You use a lightsaber and you can obviously call on the Force," Bastila said. "I don't sense any darkness in you so I doubt you are a Sith."

"So what?" the man demanded. "Yes I command the Force. I'm also pretty familiar with the Jedi way. In a certain sense you could say that those factors make me a Jedi. But what of it?"

Jaran and Bastila exchanged a look "Are you trying to tell us you're not one of us?"

"Look, I know your masters like to arrange everything in the galaxy into neat little categories—it helps to match everything to their tight little definitions." The old man smiled knowingly. "I've been around a long time and seen a great many things, including things the Jedi would label 'dark' and light'. To be completely honest with you, both of those extremes annoy me more than anything else. It's almost like the adherents of either side cling to their way almost desperately to prove that they are right. Downright irritating, I tell you."

Seeing that Bastila was becoming offended by his way of characterizing the order and way of life she held dear, Jaran motioned to placate her, taking it upon himself to answer the man's words. "I don't know what you fancy yourself, but Bastila is right—there is no taint of the dark side in you. You seem far too reasonable to be a servant of darkness. I think you follow the light, whatever you may say."

"I assure you that I see more grey than light or dark, but that really isn't the point, is it? You'll find that I'm far more stubborn than reasonable, and rather tired with others' foolishness."

"_Who are you?_" Bastila asked, apparently becoming somewhat impatient for his rambling and rough manner.

"I'm just an old man who's been lost in the wood for far too long," he said with a chuckle. "If you really need a name, you can call me Jolee Bindo, or preferably Jolee—my full name is a bit too much all at once."

"You're pretty difficult, you know that?" Jaran accused.

"Well, I certainly hope so," Jolee responded with a snort. "We oldsters are entitled to be a little cranky from time to time. It keeps the younger generation on their toes.

"Now, I have introduced myself, but I still don't know who I'm dealing with," he said rather pointedly.

Remembering his manners, Jaran set about introducing himself and Bastila, sticking with the basics and carefully avoiding any mention of why they were on Kashyyyk.

The formalities completed, Jolee picked up the teapot and breathed in the fumes from the tea, before nodding with satisfaction and pouring a generous amount into each of the three mugs. He pushed one to each of the Jedi before bringing his own to his face and, after inhaling deeply, he took a sip and sighed gratefully.

"Ah, ganarrr root tea. One of the few pleasures to be had in this hellish place."

Tentatively, Jaran took a whiff of the tea, again noticing its heavy scent. It was black and somewhat viscous and cloudy, nothing like the light teas he had seen on so many worlds in the course of his travels. Deciding it would not do to offend his host, he hesitantly took an experimental sip.

It was only by the force of his will that he did not spit the mouthful of the awful liquid back onto the floor. He swallowed it quickly—and with great difficulty—grimacing at the way it oozed its way down his throat and settled into his stomach like a puddle of muck. It almost seemed like a mixture between Dantooinian stinkweed sap, hyperdrive engine grease, with a little Coruscant granite slug slime thrown in for good measure. To his side he noticed Bastila having the same problem with her own tea, if the incredulous expression on her face was any indication.

Their troubles must have attracted Jolee's attention, as he smirked at them over the rim of his mug. "Ah yes—I seem to recall that ganarrr root tea is something of an acquired taste."

"Acquired taste!" Bastila exclaimed. "Why would you ever want to acquire a taste for this sludge?"

Jolee snorted, his eyes dancing with glee. "Trust me, my dear, that if you were stuck in this hole for years on end with little to no creature comforts, you might come to appreciate it.

"Ganarrr root tea is not universally admired, I will admit," he continued on in an introspective tone. "It is exported by the Czerka to a certain extent, but about the only species who seem to appreciate it are the Ithorians. Wookiees particularly seem to find it offensive, and they seem to have plasteel stomachs that can handle just about anything."

_That_ little tidbit was perhaps unsurprising, as the Ithorians were well known for their dedication to all things environmental, and the disgusting earthy tea would seem to be right up their alley.

"I find it rather soothing, though I will grant you the flavor is not exactly… pleasant."

Jaran forbore pointing out the fact that "not pleasant" was an understatement of epic proportions, once again remembering that it would not do to insult their host needlessly. Now that they knew he was a resident of the planet—and more specifically of the Shadowlands!—his assistance could prove critical in the search for the Star Map.

"But enough of my… _savory_ tea. I reckon that if you have come all this way and taken the trouble to persuade the Wookiees to allow you to enter the Shadowlands, then you must have come looking for something. Perhaps I can help you."

Bastila and Jaran exchanged a glance. From her Force sense Jaran suspected that she was wondering if they could trust this man, a thought that Jaran admitted to having himself. Still, if they did not want to wander around in the Shadowlands for perhaps months, he seemed to be the best possible lead to avoid that fate. Even so, a certain amount of caution was called for.

"Master—" he began, only to be interrupted by the irascible old man.

"Don't coddle me!" he snapped. "I already told you—I'm not a Jedi, and I'm certainly not your master. I'm just an old man who's been lost in the woods for far too long. If you want to deal with me, do it as an equal. All this 'Master' and bowing and scraping stuff just serves to irritate me."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," replied Jaran with a chuckle. At his side Bastila huffed in annoyance, but Jaran only grinned at her.

"Well then, Jolee," he began again, "we _are_ hoping you can give us some information."

"Well, what is it? Spit it out already; we don't have all day."

"We need to find a certain mad Wookiee down here," said Jaran, ignoring the man's tirade.

Peering at them suspiciously, Jolee raised an eyebrow. "Ah, so you've been caught up in the local politics, have you?"

"We didn't have much choice. Chuundar is holding one of our companions hostage and the price for his release is for us to find this Wookiee."

"And kill him, I suppose?" the man asked, though his tone was more musing and rhetorical that demanding an answer. "And what will you do, I wonder? The release of your companion is no small matter—you may be forced to act whether you would want to or not.

"But more importantly, perhaps," he continued, "is why Chuundar would hold one of your party hostage. The Czerka generally frown on his interference with any non-Wookiees."

Once again Jaran exchanged a glance with Bastila, turning back to Jolee when he had received her nod of encouragement.

"It turns out that he is Chuundar's brother."

"Ah, the long lost exiled brother," said Jolee, his eyes lighting up with understanding. "I can see how a brother could be a powerful pawn in Chuundar's attempts to retain control of his people. The fact that you have shown up on Kashyyyk with Chuundar's brother is interesting—very interesting indeed."

"What do you know about Chuundar?" Bastila asked.

"I know he's smart. He rules his people through the aegis of honor and tradition, though he is very good at playing one faction against another. Any Wookiee who is not on openly aligned with him is very careful to tread softly and keep his opinions to himself—Wookiees who express overt disagreement with his policies tend to become a target for the slavers, though it's always done in such a way that it can never be traced back to him. It's truly unfortunate that he uses his intelligence to subjugate his people, as I believe he has it in him to be a gifted leader. In the end, he's as good at destroying Wookiee culture as he would be if he'd bombarded the village with corpses full of Ardroxian Flu. His way is just more subtle and sneaky."

"I take it that this Wookiee he sent us to find is some kind of political enemy," Jaran stated.

Jolee shrugged his shoulders. "Something like that, I'd say."

"Then what do you recommend?"

"How's this: think for yourself!" Jolee snarled in response. "I'm no politician and I tend to prefer letting people discover the facts and act for themselves without me to coddle and direct them.

"I can tell you this; Chuundar may tell you what he likes, but I can tell you the Wookiee you seek is not crazed—maddened with grief, perhaps, but certainly not insane."

This account confirmed Jaran's suspicions—there was more going on here than some simple exiled Wookiee who had become a nuisance. With this knowledge, to simply kill the Wookiee without trying to gain some sense of what exactly was occurring would not only be against the Jedi tenets, but also unwise in the extreme. Perhaps they could inform the Wookiee of the threat to his life and convince him to remove to some other haunt. The way that he was seemingly targeting the Czerka patrols seemed to suggest that he would be difficult to influence, but they had best make the attempt at the very least.

"Now then," Jolee continued after a moment of silence, "you may have been sent down to the Shadowlands to remove a pest, but that does not explain why you are on Kashyyyk at all. Would you care to assuage an old man's curiosity?"

Pausing for a moment, Jaran decided immediately that they needed his help. Surely he and Bastila could subdue one older man if he turned out to be hostile, though he had given no indication of becoming so.

"We're looking for a Star Map made by an alien race," Jaran finally said. "Have you seen anything like that in the Shadowlands?"

Jolee's features lit up and he smirked at them. "I knew that there was something specific you were looking for, and since there is nothing on this planet but tall trees and dangerous beasts, what else could there be?"

Elated, Jaran gazed at the man expectantly—perhaps this would turn out to be easier than he had anticipated. "What can you tell us of it?"

"The map is tied into the history of this planet—or perhaps those that built it are tied in, if that makes more sense. Kashyyyk is much more interesting than anyone suspects—if Czerka knew, the planet would be a strip mine.

"If you ask the Wookiees," he continued after a moment's thought, "they will tell you they have legends which say that they were not always here, but it's more than that. Even the trees themselves are strangers."

Frowning, Jaran peered at the man. He was not making sense. "Can you be more specific?"

"All in good time," Jolee responded. "Yes, I can get you to your Star Map, but without me, you will never make it—walls have literally been placed in your path."

"And you can help us scale these walls," Jaran prompted.

"In a metaphorical sense," Jolee confirmed. "But I must warn you—my assistance comes with a price."

"Why am I not surprised?" Bastila muttered. Jaran echoed her sentiments, but kept his thoughts to himself. Whatever this man was after, Jaran was certain it was not the normal plea for credits he would expect from any normal denizen. Jolee's next words consumed Jaran's suspicions.

"Oh, it's nothing so onerous," Jolee replied to Bastila's outburst. "I have a task for you which I need to be completed, and then you must allow me to join with you."

"Join with us?" Jaran repeated. "What, when we leave the planet?"

"Of course when you leave the planet!" Jolee snapped.

Leaning back against the wall behind him, Jaran considered the man in front of him, wondering just exactly what his game was. "Why would you want to join with us? You don't even know what we're doing."

"If it involves the Star Map, then it must be something big. I've never seen its like, but it was easy enough to determine that there must be more like it. And if the council sent you here looking for it, then it must have some importance. I assume that at some point you will share that importance with me, but until then, I'm content to simply follow and offer my assistance. Besides, I think I've had about all I can stand of really big trees."

The price for buying his assistance was, it appeared, not so onerous. Leaving the question of Jolee's accompanying them away from Kashyyyk for a moment, Jaran focused in on his first condition. "You mentioned a task you wanted us to complete for you."

"It's simple really," Jolee responded with a smug smile. He evidently thought they had already capitulated to his demands, something which Jaran was still of two minds about. "I assume you are aware of the fact that the Czerka now operate in the Shadowlands?" At Jaran's short nod he continued. "It's a relatively recent development for the most part, though some elements of the company have been descending since they arrived here. The true exploitation of the surface, though, has begun in only the past few months. For the most part they have left me alone. Unfortunately, that also has changed recently."

Sitting forward once again, Jaran allowed a sneer to come over his face. "So you have some kids playing on your lawn that you want evicted?" Jaran asked with a sardonic air.

"This is more important than you think," Jolee barked, pounding his hand on the table top. "Pay attention! A group of them have set up shop not far from here, and are creating havoc with the wildlife, particularly with the tach population. They don't seem to realize that if they kill off all the tachs that eventually they will run out of the tach glands they prize so much. And it's not just the tachs they are affecting—they are butchering whole swaths of the wildlife!

"Now, the Wookiees can defend themselves if they choose to do so. The wildlife, however, is defenseless against their depredations, and they are beginning to have an effect on the ecosystem. I want them gone from here, and I'd prefer they did not return!"

"And why don't you do it yourself?"

"Because I want to see how you handle yourself," Jolee snapped in response. "How you accomplish this task will tell me much about you and your abilities, your compassion, and a bunch of other things. About the only thing I will tell you is that killing just begets more killing—if I wanted them dead, I'd do it myself. Find another way!"

Jaran stared at the old man, allowing all his frustration at the delay show in his gaze. They were on an important mission here. There was no time to right every wrong they came across, no matter how worthy or noble the cause. Besides, the man's irascible nature was truly beginning to get on his nerves.

"You know, for someone who claims he's not a Jedi," Jaran shot back, "you're sure giving a good impression of one. All this testing and mysteriousness could come right from the council."

"Blah, blah, blah," Jolee said dismissively, motioning with his hand. "I said I'm _not_ a Jedi, I never said I wasn't trained by them."

"So if we do this, you'll take us to the Star Map?"

"I said I would, didn't I? And remember, I want to go with you too."

It appeared that they had no choice. They needed Jolee to find the Star Map, and even though it could be inferred that it was close by—Jolee appeared to have no method of travelling long distances available—it did not follow that it would be easily located if they were to attempt to search for it on their own. Quickly locating the Star Map and moving on would save them valuable time, which could be used if any of the other world's Star Maps proved more difficult to find.

And besides, though the man was grumpy and quite frankly a bit of an annoyance, Jaran found himself liking him. He was no nonsense, appeared to be intelligent, and would most likely be an asset on their mission. They could do much worse, after all, and his knowledge and skills—not to mention his experience—would be invaluable for a group which was, after all, led by two padawans. It was the work of a moment to decide to accept his terms.

Jolee smiled in approval as Jaran indicated his willingness to complete his task. "Very good—you see the need to compromise and accept assistance. I have high hopes for you.

"Now, the poachers are just a short distance to the northeast. I will wait here for you to return. Remember, no unnecessary killing."

With a shooing motion, he turned away, as though dismissing a particularly unruly class of school children. Sighing at his antics, Jaran stood and with Bastila, exited the domicile. It appeared they were now in the eviction business.

* * *

Though Jaran was feeling some measure of pique due to the little distraction which Jolee had given them, he attempted to consider it philosophically, rather than become angry at the situation. As Jolee had stated, the Czerka were a menace, and Jaran could see how their removal was necessary, and if the distance was as Jolee had intimated, it really would not take much time at all.

Unfortunately, this did not diminish the perception of wasting time when they should be hunting down the Star Maps and, ultimately, Malak himself. It seemed that there had been an unending succession of obstructions put in their path, from the Czerka and their immoral activities, to Chuundar and his blood quest, and now to Jolee and his insistence that they play his game before he would consent to lead them to their goal. A part of Jaran was impatient, and wanted to march back to Jolee and demand that he lead them to the map, enforcing his point with his lightsaber, if need be.

Of course, the other part of him (which suspiciously sounded like Master Vrook at his most vocal) warned against such behavior. Not that Jaran would ever give in to such temptation. But the thought of it was more than a little appealing, based on exactly what was at stake.

"Jaran," Bastila's voice interrupted his thoughts from his side.

Turning, Jaran gave the diminutive Jedi a smile, putting his dark thoughts out of his mind. The expression on the Jedi's face was anything but congenial, however. She appeared concerned, to say the least.

"Did you want to talk about it?" she asked in a hesitant tone of voice.

Chagrinned that he had been caught thinking things that a Jedi had no business thinking about, Jaran colored slightly and looked away. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

"Jaran, we're getting far too close for you to obfuscate," Bastila chided. "I don't know specifically what you were thinking, but your impatience was obvious, mingled with a hint of unbridled violence."

Jaran sighed. "Yes, Bastila, I was thinking about how much these delays chafe and how much I'd like to emphasize the need for haste with my blade, if necessary. That doesn't mean that I'm turning dark."

"I know," she said simply. Jaran swung his eyes around to hers, surprised. He had expected another of her infamous lectures. "It's just that you're always in such control, that receiving those feelings from you is a little… unsettling, to say the least."

"Bastila," Jaran began with exaggerated patience, "I told you that I will never do anything to hurt you, and I meant it."

"And I believed you then, and believe you now." Her eyes were like hard agates, her gaze boring into him in their intensity. She was being far more understanding than usual, but he could almost feel the descending hammer in her eyes. "We must avoid such thoughts as much as possible. We would always wish to believe that we would never succumb to such temptation, but merely thinking of it raises the risk of giving in. I would ask you to refrain as much as possible."

Nodding, Jaran turned his attention back to the surrounding landscape. The flora had opened up into a small clearing deep in the gloom, and near the far side of the clearing a half dozen uniformed Czerka personnel had set up camp, with a certain amount of sophisticated equipment set up nearby. In the distance they could hear the roaring of some large beast, but though they stopped and watched the encampment for several moments, whatever it was did not approach, and the men in the camp appeared to be unconcerned.

"I will be careful, Bastila," Jaran said, turning to focus his attention on the Czerka. Presumably, this was the group Jolee had told them about.

"What's the plan?" Bastila asked.

Jaran turned to regard her, noting that she had apparently accepted his promise at face value and was now studying the encampment much as he had been doing. A well of affection for this complicated, but wonderful Jedi rose up within him, and Jaran, grateful for her forbearance, turned his attention toward their goal.

"The first method should always be diplomacy, I suppose," Jaran responded, still studying the men across the clearing.

"And if they won't do as we ask?"

"Find some way to make them leave," was Jaran's response. "We could compel them to leave."

Bastila shook her head. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. We've used the Force a few times to enforce compliance, and it's skirting a little close to the dark side."

"And so is killing them," Jaran stated. It was, perhaps, a trifle blunt, but that was exactly what Jaran felt was needed in the situation.

"It is," Bastila conceded. "But let's see if we can find another way. I'd prefer only to use the Force in such a manner if absolutely necessary."

Nodding, Jaran turned back and studied the encampment. They had a number of tents arranged to one side of the clearing, while the bulk of their equipment had been set up to the side of the tents. Of more interest to Jaran, they had a series of tall devices standing on tripods, which were set at regular intervals around the encampment. If they performed the function which Jaran suspected, they could be the key to removing the Czerka from the premises.

"Bastila, what do you make of those tripods they have surrounding their camp?"

"They appear to be some sort of emitter," Bastila said after a moment's scrutiny. "Perhaps sonic? That would explain why the wildlife is not bothering them."

"And it gives me an idea."

Purposefully, Jaran left the slight concealment of the bend in the path and started toward the Czerka encampment. By his side, Bastila walked, her Force sense conflicted. He knew she was struggling to a certain extent with this task—setting the wildlife of the planet on the men was certainly not the best thing to do to them. But if she wished to avoid using their abilities to "persuade" the Czerka to leave, then short of just simply killing them, Jaran was not certain exactly what they could do. At least with the wildlife the men would have the same fighting chance as anyone else who travelled in the Shadowlands.

Their approach had been noted almost as soon as they began their approach—several of the rank and file workers paused in what they were doing and watched them approach, even as their captain—who Jaran was easily able to identify by his uniform and the smugly superior smirk which adorned his face—watched them closely. They had not come within ten meters of the camp before the captain stepped forward and challenged them.

"Hold right there," he commanded with an outstretched hand. "You are intruding on Czerka business. What is your purpose?"

"We just wish to speak with you," Jaran responded, slowing his approach and carefully modulating his voice and posture so as to be as non-confrontational as possible.

The Czerka captain was not mollified, however, as he gazed at them with a suspicious eye. "You're dressed the same as that crazy old man in the woods."

"Nah, he's a lot shabbier than these ones," said one of his underlings, to the snickers of all the rest.

The captain, however, ignored the comment. "If you've come here to ask us to leave, you're wasting your time. Czerka has claimed this world, and we are here on Czerka business. I suggest you find somewhere else to pursue your crusade."

"Captain, have you not thought of the damage you are doing here?" Jaran demanded. If the captain was going to be confrontational, then there was no point whatsoever in trying to avoid it. "What will happen once you've killed all the tachs? There won't be much profit left for you then."

"Have you taken a good look at this planet?" the captain scoffed. "This forest is immense! It would take years—decades—to deplete the forest of its tach population. And they breed like gizkas. No, you'll not deter me. I'm here to make my fortune and then get out of this hell hole, and no self-righteous Jedi is going to talk me out of it."

"Are you not worried about the more aggressive wildlife?" Bastila asked.

A positively smug expression fell over the captain's face. "Hardly. A rather large investment on my part has rendered that possibility almost non-existent."

The smug look of self-congratulation on his face was almost insufferable, and Jaran longed to wipe it off. However, he could not, in good conscience, do so without extending one final chance to the man to leave peaceably.

"Are you certain I cannot persuade you? It truly is for the best if you go seek your fortune somewhere else."

"Absolutely not," was the vehement reply. "I have every right to be here. Now leave before I decide speaking with you is more trouble than what it's worth."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Jaran responded, not feeling sorry in the slightest for what he was about to do.

Noting that Bastila had taken a position close to one of the emitters, Jaran ignited his lightsabers, swinging one at the closest emitter, while hurling his second lightsaber at another, calling it back once it had served its purpose. Bastila also sprung into action, dealing with her own emitter. The three pieces of equipment threw up geysers of sparks before falling to the ground as inert piles of twisted and burnt out metal.

Through all of this, the Czerka had remained transfixed, surprised over the sudden violence and destruction of their protection against the depredations of the surrounding forest.

This astonishment quickly turned to fury on the part of the captain, as his face instantly went to a shade of purple which had Jaran wondering if he would end up popping a blood vessel.

"How dare you!" the captain screamed, hefting his weapon and pointing it at Jaran. "Those sonic emitters cost me a small fortune and were to be my ticket out of this damned business, and now you've ruined it!"

"I asked you nicely," Jaran responded congenially.

"I'll have your head for this," the captain hissed hatefully.

"Do not take on more than you can deal with," was Jaran's cold reply. "I suggest you leave while you are still able to."

The captain's answer was forever lost by the loud roaring of what appeared to be a rather large beast. It lumbered into the clearing from the opposite direction from which Jaran and Bastila had entered, and stopped to bellow once again in its rage. It was massive, standing more than three meters tall, its body was dark, covered with thick, leathery skin, with long spikes protruding from parts of its body and, specifically, off of the crown of its head, which had grown to almost a meter in length. Behind one of its head spikes, Jaran thought he detected the glint of a metal object in the gloom. Its large, gaping maw was framed by a pair of long tusks, and each of its four feet contained four long claws. Both the claws and the tusks were coated with a highly venomous poison, which could kill in a matter of hours if not treated. It was, in short, a creature directly out of a nightmare, and one even Jedi did not challenge lightly.

The expressions on the faces of the Czerka were almost comical, as their anger turned suddenly to chagrin and abject terror. The underlings all immediately bolted, some losing their weapons in their haste to escape from the massive creature. The captain appeared torn for a moment between revenge and self-preservation, before he too began to run from the now rapidly advancing creature.

Jaran had not been idle. Recognizing the creature as one out of legend, he extinguished his lightsabers and, rushing toward Bastila, pulled her off to the side of the path. He pinned her against the trunk of one of the massive Wroshyrs, protecting her against the creature's wrath with his own body.

The beast, however, took no notice of them, instead seeming to focus on the fleeing men as they swiftly retreated. Jaran could not contain a shiver as the creature passed them by. He fancied he could almost smell the fetid odor of its breath, or feel the powerful muscles on its oversized body, or the poison as the creature's claws ripped into his unprotected back. Forcing himself past his fanciful thoughts, Jaran watched carefully as the creature disappeared, hot on the trail of the fleeing men. The situation on the planet's surface had just changed if one of these creatures was living upon its surface.

"Was that what I think it was?" he asked, moments after the creature had passed.

"Terentatek," Bastila breathed in response. "Jedi Killer."

Jaran nodded but said nothing, his mind still trying to grapple with the implications of a Terentatek hunting the Kashyyyk Shadowlands. They would obviously have to be much more careful than they had heretofore been during their travels.

"Jaran?"

His name softly spoken pulled Jaran from his thoughts, and he found himself almost lost in the cobalt depths of his companion's eyes, which appeared only inches from his own. Jaran was almost surprised that she was so close to him, and he instantly became aware of her very feminine form which was pressed against him as he shielded her from the outside world, not to mention her rosy lips which immediately drew his attention. Her eyes contained a hint of trepidation, though the main emotion which seemed to be coursing through her was embarrassment; she had obviously never been this close to a man before.

Jaran immediately retreated from her proximity somewhat bashfully, allowing her to step away from the tree. She regarded him, her embarrassment quickly turning to exasperation and annoyance—exasperation, he thought, with which she tried to cover her embarrassment.

"Really, Jaran, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"I am well aware of that," Jaran responded, feeling the sense of protectiveness for this small woman, which had provoked him to shield her, wax stronger than ever.

"Then what was that all about?" she demanded.

"I reacted without thinking, Bastila," he responded with exaggerated patience. "Bastila, we're bonded together—it's a fact neither of us can do anything about. We have to be protective of each other, and being protective toward you appears to be in my nature. You had better get used to it."

Whatever she had expected his answer to be, clearly that was not it. She fell silent, peering at him through troubled eyes, obviously taking stock of his words.

They quickly took stock of their surroundings, and seeing nothing to hold them, immediately began making their way back to Jolee's dwelling in silence, both of them fixated on their own thoughts. The situation had changed, and more importantly—or so it seemed to Jaran—their relationship had shifted again. Things between them were progressing at a far more rapid pace than Jaran had ever imagined. The thought both excited and confused him. Clearly, more thought would be required.

* * *

The silence on their journey back to Jolee's hut allowed Jaran time to consider the situation, and he found that he could not completely account for his behavior. That he was protective of the woman by his side was undeniable, and he had found himself becoming more protective the more time they spent in one another's company. But was it more than simply that? Was Jaran beginning to develop strong feelings for Bastila? The answer was obvious—of course he was. But though he tried to tell himself that he saw her as a sister, his feelings for her in no way matched the feelings he had for his real sister. They seemed at once more intense and more real, not that that made any sense whatsoever.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as they walked, noting her own introspection. She had closed her side of the bond down tightly, leaving Jaran feeling strangely alone. He had become used to her comforting presence in the Force, and her absence left him bereft. It was likely for the better, he thought; she would not thank him for the direction his thoughts were heading. On the contrary, she would castigate him severely for even considering the possibility that his feelings for her had grown beyond merely respect for a comrade in arms, or affection for a sister.

Knowing such thoughts were not productive and would earn him a lecture were Bastila to discover them, Jaran turned his attention to the other problem at hand. It was beyond the realm of possibility that Jolee could not have known about the terentatek, not if he had lived on the surface of Kashyyyk as long as he had suggested. And yet he had not seen fit to tell them of the possibility of encountering it. Why? Was there something happening they were not aware of, or had Jolee somehow fooled them with his brusque manner? Had he set them up, hoping that they would come across the beast? Jaran would have answers—immediate answers—or they would come to conflict.

They arrived back at the hut, and by the time they had stepped over the threshold, Jaran had worked himself up to a healthy suspicion. Perhaps fortunately, the expression of worry on Jolee's face served to mollify him—the older man had clearly sensed something of what had happened, and unless he was a very good actor, it had not been pleasant or desired.

"You've returned," he stated gruffly as they entered the hut. "I was just about to go looking for you."

"It appeared you left something out when you sent us on our task," Jaran responded in a flat tone of voice.

"So it was the terentatek?"

"It was," Jaran confirmed. "And I might wonder why you did not see fit to warn us of the possibility of running into it. The presence of a 'Jedi Killer' is not exactly the sort of unimportant detail which can be conveniently ignored."

Jolee sat wearily at the table, and motioned for the two companions to do the same. "The fact of the matter is that it never even occurred to me." He peered up at their skeptical faces and snorted with derision. "I'm old, and it's a prerogative of the elderly to be a trifle forgetful. Give me a break!"

At this Jaran cracked a bit of a smile, though Bastila did not seem amused. Jolee truly was a breath of fresh air, when compared to most other Jedi he had met, most of whom were so stiff and proper.

"I haven't actually run across it in some time," Jolee said, once again becoming serious. "It never occurred to me that it might be awake and active again, though I suppose I should have, considering the recent strengthening of the dark side.

"I ran across it for the first time not long after I arrived here," he continued, his eyes far away as he remembered some time in the distant past. "Scared me so bad that I nearly wet myself, I can tell you." He chuckled at his own joke before he spoke again. "I barely managed to escape with my life intact. Since then I've been very careful.

"It is said that terentateks can lie dormant for many years only to awake and become active again when the dark side grows stronger," Jolee mused, stroking his chin. "I've sometimes gone months and months without encountering it, but at other times sensed its presence several times in the space of a week. I think that it needs to hunt for food periodically, before it can lie dormant again for many years."

"Have you ever discovered its lair?" Bastila asked with some curiosity.

Jolee snorted and glared at her. "I'm a crazy old man, not a stupid one!" he snapped. "During the hunts, only bonded Jedi, working in tandem and using only their fighting abilities, were able to defeat a terentatek. They are almost completely immune to the Force! While I have some skill with a lightsaber, I'm no weapons master. _And_ I have a healthy sense of personal preservation. Trust me; I know its usual haunts, and I know enough to stay away from those areas."

While this was all very interesting, it was not getting them any closer to their goal. Jaran glanced over at Bastila, wondering about her opinion of Jolee's explanation, nodding when he caught her indifferent shrug. For what it was worth, Jaran was not able to detect any deceit in the man, and he felt they could trust him. Either way, he was their best lead to finding the Star Map quickly—it was worth the risk if they were to move on from this planet quickly.

"Don't worry," Jolee said at length, "as long as we avoid the terentatek's regular haunts, we should be fine."

"So you'll help us find the Wookiee and the Star Map?"

"I said I would, didn't I?" He then peered at them with some suspicion. "You _did_ get rid of the Czerka, didn't you?"

"We did," Jaran confirmed.

Cocking his head to the side, Jolee studied them as though considering something of great import. "And you did not kill them? No, I'd say not—you do not have the stench of death about you. How did you do it then?"  
Jaran related the story to the older man, prompting a chuckle from him once he had finished. "Well, perhaps it's not what I would have done in your place, but effective nonetheless. I would imagine that a three meter terentatek bearing down on you would leave quite an impression."

"That was the general idea," was Jaran's reply, complete with a feral grin. "You said you didn't want them to return, and I imagine that even if the captain could replace his destroyed emitters, he'd have a tough time getting his men to come back."

"I like the way you think, son," said Jolee, his own grin matching Jaran's.

"Honestly, are you two finished?" Bastila demanded. Her cross expression coupled with her posture—she stood with one hand on a hip, the classic pose of all women when confronted with an exasperating male—spoke volumes to her displeasure. "I believe we should concentrate on the mission, if the two of you are quite finished with your male bravado."

The matching grins the two directed at her prompted a roll of her eyes in response, though a hint of a smirk did appear on her face.

"Very well, then," Jolee told them. "The Star Map is not too distant, and the area the Wookiee ranges in should be on the way. A couple hours' hike and we will have both of your objectives complete."

"When can we leave?" Bastila asked.

"Tomorrow," Jolee responded firmly. "The Shadowlands are no place to go roaming around in the dark, and it gets dark early in the shadows of the trees. At night the Shadowlands are pitch black—you can't even see your hand in front of your face! Come now, let me get you some dinner, then we can discuss our plans for tomorrow."

Regarding him suspiciously, Jaran thought back to the horrid tea that he had tried to give them earlier, wondering exactly what he would try to poison them with this time. Jolee interpreted his look correctly, and chuckled.

"Don't worry—not everything on this planet is like ganarrr root tea. I promise that dinner will be much better."

There was, unfortunately, no choice. So after a commiserating glance with Bastila, they once again sat down at the table and spoke in low voices while Jolee worked in the kitchen.

* * *

**A/N:**

1. Thanks to all who are still following this story.

2. The scene with the terentatek was one of the first that came to mind when I decided to write this novelization. I don't think it came out quite as I had intended, but I think it came out well nonetheless.

3. It appears that I misjudged slightly. I had allocated three chapters per planet when I planned out this story, but I highly doubt I'll be able to fit everything left to do on Kashyyyk in one more chapter. If that pattern holds true for every subsequent planet, that means the story will end up being four chapters longer, which will put it right around forty. It appears there is still quite a ways to go.


	16. Chapter 16

**Previously:** Jaran and Bastila enter the Shadowlands and meet a Jedi, Jolee Bindo, who has apparently been living there for many years. He claims he can guide them to the Star Map, but sends them on a mission to deal with a group of Czerka first. Jaran and Bastila do so, and return to his hut after, planning to journey to the map the following day.

* * *

**Chapter 16 – Facing the Nightmare**

As it turned out, dinner was a much more pleasant affair than they had any right to expect, given their earlier experience with Jolee's idea of what was palatable. It consisted largely of various roots and vegetables. In other words, Jolee subsisted on whatever could naturally be gathered from the forest floor, as the locale was not exactly conducive to growing one's own vegetables in a garden or any kind of grains. Likewise, there was no way to keep domesticated animals for meat or milk, and there was no poultry or any kind of eggs. And in Jolee's words, any animals which could be hunted for meat were likely to fight back, rendering that possibility problematic—obviously meat was not a large part of his diet. It was clear, however, he had been living there for many years, as he was able to expertly take advantage of what _was_ available. The stew he prepared was savory and filling, though not perhaps as well spiced as Jaran would normally have preferred.

After dinner they spent some time discussing their plans for the following day, though it was in essence simply a repeat of what they had already discussed. The area haunted by the exiled Wookiee was about two hours distance, and the Star Map itself was not much further. Jolee was of the opinion that if they started as soon as enough light penetrated through the canopy to enable them to see where they were going, that they would be able to reach both and return to his cabin within the space of one day, a highly desirable outcome. Though it was _possible_ to spend the night out in the Shadowlands, it was still quite dangerous, regardless of any precautions they might take.

After their brief discussion, Jaran produced his comlink and once again attempted to contact their companions at the ship. Unfortunately, this time his efforts were in vain, as they were unable to raise the Hawk—the comlik generated nothing but static.

Laughing quietly at their attempts, Jolee said, "Did you really think you'd be able to get a signal out of this mess of Wroshyrs up to your ship? There is too much interference to do that—the signal gets all jumbled up by all the trees."

"So no communications works down here?" asked Bastila curiously.

Jolee only shrugged. "I don't rightly know. Maybe if you had a full communications array set up down here you could get a message out, but the signal would not be the best. Comlink signals don't penetrate much more than a kilometer or two down here; something about the Wroshyrs interferes with the signal, not to mention the fact that there is so much of it."

Their attempts at contacting their companions thus thwarted, the two visitors bedded down on the floor in the available space in the small domicile. Jolee offered the use of the single bed to Bastila for her use, but the female Jedi refused, explaining in an even tone that she had slept in far less comfortable locations during her time as a Padawan, and that she did not require any preferential treatment. Though he had been afraid that perhaps Jolee would insist due to some misguided sense of chivalry, thereby starting an argument with the prickly Jedi, the older man merely chuckled and climbed into his bed himself. The amount of room on the floor _was_ rather cozy, but there was enough room between them that Jaran was able to sleep without intruding upon Bastila's personal space. And though his companion did appear to be a little uncomfortable and stiff initially, no doubt due to the close proximity in which they lay, the day's events, having tired them out, ensured that she soon relaxed into sleep.

It was, therefore, early when they set out toward the Star Map—or at least early, as such things were reckoned in the depths of the forest. As they had the previous day, the two padawans followed Jolee through the gloom. But though he was still careful and alert, their pace was much greater than it had been the previous day. Their journey was largely completed without interruption, though they did have an encounter or two with a few predatory katarns, which they dealt with without much fuss.

As they travelled, Jolee pointed out some of the locations they passed by, including a spot where he told them he often gathered the ingredients for his sparse meals, the entrance to part of the maze which led to a large colony of kinrath, as well as a certain number of other points of interest. In truth, Jaran thought, his "points of interest" were really only interesting to the one who had spent many years living in the depths of Kashyyyk. For himself, Jaran simply wanted to complete the mission in as expeditious a manner as possible, and leave this planet.

Their travels were also accompanied by Jolee's running commentary of his adventures in the Shadowlands, _some of which_ Jaran even thought might contain a little truth! His words were punctuated by expansive hand gestures, and grand pronouncements, as he told them of what he had done in the time since he had come to the planet.

In one place, he pointed out a small depression in between a few of the large trees, surrounded by dense foliage. "The last time I tried to camp out, I did so in between those trees. It was late in the day and I was tired and grumpy, and didn't particularly want to slog all the way back to my dwelling. I thought it a remarkably clever place to hole up."

"And what happened?" Jaran prompted, keeping a careful watch on the landscape.

A self-deprecating laugh met Jaran's question. "I was sound asleep, nice and cozy and without a care. But about the middle of the night I was startled awake, and the first thing that I saw when I opened my eyes, was a pair of yellow eyes staring right at me.

"It's a good thing the katarn was just as surprised by my reaction as I was at seeing it. It ran one direction and I ran the other, and it was some time before I thought to stop. I don't think I so much as blinked for the rest of the night. I spent it with my back up against the side of a Wroshyr, and I vowed that I would never do that again!"

Through the course of the morning Jaran grew to like the older man and to understand him a little better. Jolee, it was clear, was not used to having an audience, and he was more than willing to revel in such a rare opportunity and relate his stories. And though as he noted, Jolee's stories carried more than a hint of exaggeration, and perhaps outright fabrication, they were still entertaining. Jaran suspected that rather than being a braggart and inveterate liar, Jolee was more a talented storyteller, who could not resist spinning a good yarn, whether it resembled the truth or not.

Approximately an hour into their travels, they came upon a most peculiar sight, situated, as it was, in the middle of the Shadowlands. The trail they followed had been narrowing for some time when they turned a corner to find their path blocked by a shimmering forcefield which had been set up between the bases of two of the great trees.

Jaran stopped and glanced at Jolee, noting his smug expression of satisfaction. "'Walls have been placed in your path'?" he asked a little testily.

"They have indeed," was the response. "In an attempt to segregate parts of the Shadowlands, the Czerka have put these forcefields at various locations. It's _somewhat_ successful at keeping the wildlife from moving from one place to another," continued Jolee with some smugness, "though they are essentially useless against Wookiees. They never stopped to consider the fact that Wookiees have retractable claws, and are well able to climb around their forcefields!"

"Typical Czerka," Jaran commented. "I assume you can get us through it?"

"Of course I can," said Jolee.

"And how did you manage to obtain the code?" asked Bastila.

"I was watching them as they installed it. When they left, I waylaid one of the workers and _persuaded_ him to share the access code."

To say that Bastila's frown was disapproving was an understatement, not surprising to Jaran considering the discussion they had had about that particular ability only the previous day.

Her expression did not faze Jolee in the slightest. "Look, Bastila," he said in an uncompromising tone of voice, "I was very upfront with you yesterday when I told you that I am much more comfortable with grey than black or white. I assure you that I do not abuse my abilities, but compelling others is much more effective than to, say, torture them for information, or even kill them. I'm sure you agree."

There really was no response. Bastila appeared to be somewhat less than mollified, but she nodded and said nothing further, and Jaran was not about to rock the boat any further by making any comments himself.

The slight disagreement at an end, Jolee moved to the console standing in front of the forcefield, and quickly entered the code. The forcefield shimmered slightly, before it disappeared. Jolee insolently bowed and motioned for the two Jedi to precede him through the portal, which they did, though Jaran did detect a sniff of disdain, and a slightly haughtier posture from his female companion, the likes of which he had not seen for some time.

The journey on the far side of the portal was accomplished in a much quieter fashion than had hitherto been their wont, though Jolee's commentary did not completely cease. Of immediate concern and some interest, was a rather dark path which led away from the main route they travelled, some fifteen minutes after they passed through the forcefield.

"That was where I met the terentatek for the first time," he told them. "Though I could see it coming from a fair distance, I couldn't tell what it was until it got a lot closer. I was lucky a tach distracted it, or I would have become its next lunch!"

"Does that path lead towards its lair?" Jaran asked.

"Near as I can tell," came the gruff reply. "I didn't exactly stop and ask for directions."

There was something, however, which was bothering Jaran, and after mulling it over in his mind, he jogged to catch up to Jolee, who was leading, and voiced his concern.

"Something doesn't add up," he remarked quietly.

A raised eyebrow met his statement. "Well, what is it? Don't be shy."

"We met the terentatek yesterday on the _other_ side of the forcefield. How did it get there?"

Jolee chuckled and responded, "The Czerka just don't know nearly as much as they think they do."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Bastila asked, having taken an interest in the conversation.

"They closed off a number of places to try to separate parts of the Shadowlands, but the reality is that this place is like a maze. There are at least half a dozen places I can think of offhand that they never blocked."

"Then why didn't you take us through one of them?" demanded Bastila.

"Because most of them are not nearly as convenient—I took the most direct path I could think of. And some of those other places are more heavily infested with the wildlife, many of which you would not want to meet."

They travelled on in silence for some more minutes before Jolee's pace lessened and then he stopped altogether. He scanned the gloom for some moments before turning back towards his companions.

"The last time I spoke with your Wookiee, it was right in this clearing," he explained. "And how long ago was that?"

"Some months at least," Jolee said with a shrug. "It's a little difficult to keep track of the passage of time in the Shadowlands."

"Then how do you know we will find him here?"

"I don't," was Jolee's abrupt reply, accompanied by a shrug. "He has lived for a long time in the Shadowlands, and is as familiar with his territory as I am with mine. Plus, he has some advantages that we do not, such as the ability to climb the trees. If he doesn't want us to find him, then no doubt we will not."

Thinking about the situation for a few moments, Jaran peered around in the gloom, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. "Is there any way we can prompt him to show himself?"

"All things being equal, our presence should be enough. The longer he has been down here, the more distrustful he is, and the more likely he is to attack at first sight. I should think that all we have to do is to attract his attention."

Much as Jaran was unexcited about the prospect of a fully grown Wookiee warrior attacking them with abandon, he had to admit that Jolee was likely correct in this instance. It seemed then their best chance was to make their way through the area, taking no care to hide their movements, and hope to attract his attention.

"And what if we don't find him?" Bastila asked.

"Then we return to Chuundar and tell him that we couldn't find him," said Jaran. "It's a dangerous area—it's possible he has moved, or he could have run up against the terentatek. We can't 'deal with his problem' if we can't find him."

"I think you may be putting a little too much faith in Chuundar's ability to see reason," Jolee said with a chuckle. "Not to mention his sanity."

"Perhaps," Jaran replied, "but it's the reality of the situation."

"Regardless, I think we should attend to our task," said Bastila. "No sense planning for an eventuality which may not even happen."

Agreeing that this was sensible, the trio turned their energy toward finding the mysterious Wookiee. Their plan was simple, as the situation demanded, for as Jolee had pointed out, if the Wookiee did not wish to meet them, they would never find him. Jolee led them through the Shadowlands to the various places he had encountered the Wookiee, taking care to assure that their presence was not missed. In general, Jolee knew the Wookiee's range, though he did not know exactly where he made his home, which gave them an advantage, in that they would not search all through the Shadowlands to try to locate him. They also agreed that if they did not encounter him within the hour, they would continue on toward the Star Map and try again on their way back. In that way, they could ensure that they were not caught out in the open after night fell.

Though they were expecting it to a certain extent, it was still quite startling when their journey was interrupted less than half an hour later by a loud roar, and a large Wookiee broke from the cover of a nearby tree and sped toward them, his blade raised to strike.

"Hold Freyyr!" Jolee commanded, causing the Wookiee to falter in his assault. The older Jedi ignited his lightsaber, though he motioned for Jaran and Bastila to leave theirs dormant. "We are friends, not Czerka!"

The Wookiee slowed and eyed them cautiously, though he did not lower his weapon. He sniffed the air for several moments before he dropped his weapon toward his side, and peered at them, still with some belligerence.

"Jolee Bindo?" he roared, his voice definitely containing a questioning note.

"Yes, Freyyr, it is I," Jolee responded.

The Wookiee approached them slowly, and still warily, keeping his eyes on the lightsaber—it was the recognition of the weapon, as much as the face of the man wielding it which convinced the Wookiee of Jolee's identity, Jaran thought. Even a Wookiee, who had likely never left the planet, would have heard tales of Jedi and what they stood for, and would have known what a lightsaber symbolized.

"Why do you seek me out?" the Wookiee growled.

"I bring two compatriots with me," Jolee responded, pointing to Jaran and Bastila. "They have been tasked with finding you, and they bring news which should be of great interest to you."

"Very well, speak," Freyyr growled after he had studied them for several moments.

"Freyyr, Zaalbar has returned."

The Wookiees eyes widened, and his head whipped around, facing the two Jedi. "You have news of my son?"

Nonplused, Jaran stared back at the big Wookiee—_that_ was a revelation for which he was certainly not prepared. There appeared to be much more to this situation than simply a leader wishing a rogue dealt with—if Freyyr was Chuundar's father, his motives for essentially committing patricide must be serious indeed.

"I came to Kashyyyk with Zaalbar, yes," said Jaran slowly, noting the impatience with which the old Wookiee was regarding him.

"You claim to be his owner then?" was the suspicious query.

"Zaalbar follows me because of a life-debt, not due to any ownership," Jaran replied, his voice firm and unyielding. "I do not take slaves, and I would release Zaalbar from his life-debt if I could—I only did what any other good and decent being would have done had they been in my place."

The scrutiny from the big Wookiee was intense, but after a moment, he nodded slowly. Apparently Jaran had passed some sort of test.

"Your words and actions show you to be a man of honor. If Zaalbar sees something of worth in you, then I will trust his judgment. Please tell me of my son and why it is that you seek me out."

"Perhaps this is a conversation we should not be having in the middle of the Shadowlands," Jolee suggested, peering around in the gloom.

"I see the wisdom of the Jedi is not exaggerated," said Freyyr dryly. "You are correct, of course. If you would follow me, I will lead you to a place where we may speak more freely."

The ensuing walk was completed in silence—Jolee was busy watching the surrounding landscape, while the Wookiee was much too forbidding to encourage any sort of random chatter. Jaran and Bastila followed their more knowledgeable companions through the gloom, and though Jaran knew that it was only prudent that they remove themselves from the middle of the path, another part of him chafed at the continued delay.

In reality, it was only a few moments before they were led into the Wookiee's lair. It was crudely built and maintained, consisting of a carved depression into the side of a Wroshyr, protected by a sturdy wall fashioned from heavy branches of the same. Inside there was a single room with little in the way of creature comforts—really nothing more than a rude table and a bed covered with brush to make it slightly softer. It was not as clean or dry, and certainly not as comfortable as Jolee's abode, but it was safe, as Jaran suspected that anything less than a large katarn or the terentatek itself would be unable to penetrate into its interior.

Once they had entered into the dwelling, the large Wookiee immediately turned and in a voice which allowed for no dissention, began to speak. "Now, I would hear of my son. How did you come to meet him, and why did you bring him here of all places?"

Carefully, Jaran began to explain some of the details behind their presence on Kashyyyk. As Zaalbar had never been open with him, Jaran did not know the circumstances of his arrival and sojourn on Taris, but he nonetheless described their meeting as well as the events which led to Zaalbar's rescue from the Gammorian slavers. He was careful to avoid mentioning exactly what brought them to Kashyyyk, saying only that it was a mission which had been given to them by the Jedi Council. He also forbore any mention of Chuundar's task, though he did say that they had descended in part to gain some information which could be found upon the surface. Obviously Freyyr was familiar with the presence of the Star Map, though it was equally clear that he had paid no attention to it himself, as it afforded him no assistance in his quest to hurt the Czerka as much as he was able.

At the end of the explanation, Freyyr was silent for several moments, clearly deep in thought over the information which he had just been given.

"Perhaps I should tell you some of my history and the history of my family, so that you may understand," he said at length. "For I know that Chuundar would not have allowed you to descend unless he had some particular reason for doing so. Obviously, my activities have overwhelmed any remaining loyalty or respect my eldest once felt for me, and he feels that I am nothing more than a liability."

"Freyyr, I would never kill another being based on explanations that I cannot even confirm," said Jaran. The Wookiee was intelligent, as he had clearly caught on to what Jaran had not said in his explanation. "Chuundar did send us down here to kill you, but his word is suspect in every instance, and I would rather know your story before we devise some plan to counter his machinations."

The respect in the old Wookiee's eyes almost seemed visible to Jaran, and he bowed his head in respect. "A careful and thoughtful man," he rumbled. "Would that there were more in the galaxy like you. I will tell you what I can.

"It started small. The Czerka arrived on Kashyyyk some years ago, and I could immediately see that they were dangerous and not to be trusted. Clearly, they prized whatever they could pull easily from the planet, but it was also equally clear that they prized _us_ as well. I kept my people as safe as I could, ensuring that whenever possible we moved in force so that none would be alone and easy prey. There were a few disappearances in the beginning, but though I knew that some were due to the depredations of the Czerka, I could not prove it as there have always been some losses. Kashyyyk is a very dangerous place, and our people have often travelled to the lower levels to prove ourselves. But that alone could account for the all of the disappearances."

The Wookiee had leaned back against the wall and his eyes were unfocused, clearly lost in the memories of the past as he continued. "The situation continued for several years until suddenly, almost overnight, our losses began to mount to alarming levels. We are not a numerous people, as you can see, and though my edicts were still holding and we should have been protected to a certain extent, still our losses were rising. The other tribes were in similar straits, though their problems were not to the extent that ours were, suggesting that there was something specific about our tribe which was allowing the Czerka to prey on us more fully.

"Zaalbar was the one who saw it first."

"The fact that Chuundar was dealing with Czerka?"

"Yes. Chuundar would blame the disappearances on the dangers of the Shadowlands, even after they started to escalate. In reality, he was leading them to our hunting parties. I did not want to believe it—could not believe my eldest son and heir was betraying us to those who considered us nothing more than animals and cheap sources of labor.

"But it seemed that Zaalbar had become distrustful of Chuundar and kept track of his movements. When he discovered what Chuundar was doing he was crazed and angered, and attacked Chuundar with his claws. The shame was immense—my own son had become a madclaw!"

He was silent for several moments as he was overcome with grief. It was Bastila who interjected into the silence.

"What is a madclaw?"

"Wookiees are a civilized race," Jolee answered. "They are very intelligent and very intuitive. However, due to their appearance and the fact that their vocal chords are not suitable for speaking in Basic, they have often been considered little more than savages. To them, their claws are tools to be used for climbing—not as weapons. Any Wookiee who uses his claws to attack another for whatever reason is labeled a madclaw and exiled."

Jaran understood immediately. Many cultures throughout the galaxy had such customs, and often these customs had evolved to distinguish them from their savage roots. For a race such as Wookiees, to whom honor was everything, any misstep or departure from their honorable behavior would be deemed a disgrace, not easily forgiven. It was clear why Zaalbar had left his home world.

"So you exiled him."

"I had no choice," the old Wookiee rumbled quietly, his head hung low. "I was bound to the old ways. Zaalbar had attacked his brother with his claws, and Chuundar was the elder brother; I believed him as tradition dictated."

Knowing the Wookiee would not appreciate it, Jaran did not mention the fact that he was happy to a degree that Zaalbar had been exiled—he _had_ been a great help on Taris, and they may not have gotten off the planet without him. Instead he said, "When did you learn the truth?"

"A year later. It appeared that Chuundar now considered me a threat as he was not idle in the interval—he spread lies of my own madness, making certain that my closest supporters were either taken by the Czerka or too cowed to speak out in my favor. I had no allies by the time I learned the truth and confronted him."

"And that is when you were driven down here?" Bastila asked.

"I was attacked and had to flee for my life," answered Freyyr. "Even then they would not give up. They pursued me here among the roots of the trees."

"That's where _I _first saw him," said Jolee. "He was being closely followed by his pursuers. I created a… diversion, which allowed him time to escape."  
"And I once again thank you for it," said Freyyr to the Jedi.  
Jolee waved him off. "No more than I would do for anyone else. I've had dealings with Wookiees since I've been on this planet, and though I don't consider myself a good judge of your codes of honor, I've thought that Chuundar's honor—though I only met him a few times—did not extend much deeper than his own interests."

The Wookiee's response was morose. "If only I had learned that myself. Then Zaalbar would not have been exiled, and Chuundar would have been branded a slaver."

They all fell into silence once Freyyr's story had come to an end, and Jaran was left to ponder what their course should be. Chuundar had obviously sent them down on false pretenses as they had suspected, but why he should attempt to remove his father from the equation at this particular time was not so clearly understood. Perhaps he was just tired of the disruption his father was causing, or he could be fearful of his people discovering the truth now that Zaalbar had returned. Truly it mattered little.

What mattered was the fact that it would be difficult to rescue Zaalbar from the clutches of his brother without doing as Chuundar asked. Or perhaps the likelihood that he would allow his brother to leave was not high in the first place. As treacherous as the Wookiee was, that eventuality would not be a surprise in the least.

Of course actually killing Freyyr was not even a consideration—though Jaran had obviously killed many during the course of his time in the Special Forces, he had never killed another in cold blood, and was not about to start now. They would have to find another way.

"So what do we do now?" Bastila asked, and Jaran had the impression that the matter had been on the minds of them all.

"That depends on you," Freyyr rumbled. "You could kill me—I think three Jedi would be enough to handle one Wookiee, after all."

"Not exactly an option," Jolee snapped. "You know more about Jedi than that, Freyyr."

"So I do, my friend. I don't think it would ultimately do you any good anyway. Knowing what my eldest son has become, I doubt he would allow Zaalbar to go so easily."

"I can see that we think alike," was Jaran's wry response.

"There may be another way," Freyyr continued after acknowledging Jaran's statement. "Chuundar is chieftain and he is respected, but that respect is based on the position and the fear the Czerka instill in my people. He is not loved. I believe that if we were to appeal to the traditions of my people, I may be able to gather enough support to oust him."

"And how would you do that?"

"There is a legend of my people, from ancient times," Freyyr began. His voice began to take on a hint of a storytelling tone that, had Jaran been a Wookiee, would have had him enthralled, he suspected. Non-Wookiees were able to understand the language, but they could never hope to fully appreciate all of the inflections, etc, which comprised the Wookiees' ability to communicate with each other.

"There was a great warrior by the name of Bacca. Many centuries ago a starship crashed upon the surface of Kashyyyk, leaving a smoking ruin the deep forest. This was our first indication that there were other sentient species in the galaxy, you understand—as a result some of our people were fearful."

Indicating that they understood, Jaran motioned for Freyyr to continue. It would be a shock to any non-space faring people to suddenly have a ship fall out of the sky.

"Bacca, however, was brave and curious. He went out to investigate the crash site, and returned with stories of what he had found. Though the ship was almost completely destroyed in the fires which brought about its ruin and no hint of those who had occupied it were to be found—they were undoubtedly consumed in the wreck—he was able to salvage some pieces of debris from the wreckage. He used those pieces to fashion a blade which has been carried by the chieftain of my people ever since."

"Then does Chuundar not have it now?" asked Jaran, curious as to where Freyyr was leading with his story.

"He does not. A generation ago it was damaged in a ritual battle. A great beast has lived in this area for many years, one which has defied all of our greatest warriors. Though we may have been able to defeat it if we had sent many of our warriors against it, it has often gone missing for years at a time, and as we have never descended to the Shadowlands in force, nor has the creature ventured up into the branches of the trees, it was deemed unnecessary."

Jaran had an uncomfortable suspicion about where this was going, but he held is peace and listened to the Wookiee's story.

"However, over the years, fighting this beast has become a ritual of bravery. Many Wookiees have descended to seek the creature out and battle it, and while relatively few have found it, among those who have, few returned to tell the tale.

"One such was Rothrrrawr, a chieftain of my people. He sought a challenge and entered the Shadowlands to battle it. He was arrogant and conceited, and his pride unfortunately brought him more than he could handle.

"He survived the battle, but during its course, Bacca's blade was damaged. Rothrrrawr emerged from the Shadowlands almost insensible from the severity of his injuries, and with the hilt of the weapon clutched in his fist. When he recovered, he was able to tell the rest of the tribe that the blade had become lodged in the creature's hide, and had snapped off of the hilt when he fled. It is said that the blade was taken from us because we had become unworthy.

"However, more importantly, the hilt is still with my people and hangs on the wall of the hall of the chieftain. Chuundar now possesses it. With the blade, however, I would hold half of the weapon, having retrieved it from the creature—_that_ would give me great honor if I showed up bearing the lost portion of the weapon. It may give me enough leverage and my people enough pause to allow me to challenge him. It is, as far as I can think, my only chance to defeat him."

Silence fell over the room, and Jaran was thinking furiously. The fact that Freyyr had brought this to them suggested that he was not intending on doing this himself—he needed their assistance. There were many creatures in the depths of the forest, some very large and imposing, but for a Wookiee of the obvious skill of Freyyr and his predecessors to be afraid of it, meant that it was certainly a very dangerous creature indeed. Though he was afraid of the answer, Jaran tentatively ventured the obvious question.

"And what is this beast? Can you describe it to us?"

"It is almost half again as tall as a Wookiee and walks on two legs, though when necessary it uses its front paws as well, running with great speed. There are massive spikes growing from the back of its head, and it has tusks and huge claws on its paws which carry a deadly poison. It shrugs off wounds as though they were nothing, and has an almost supernatural ability to heal quickly. If Wookiees still believed in such things, I would call it a demon from the very depths of hell."

Jaran, Jolee, and Bastila all looked at each other in consternation, the same thought running through all of their minds.

"Terentatek!"

The Wookiee regarded them solemnly. "You know of this creature?"

Exchanging a look with Bastila and Jolee, Jaran spoke up to respond to Freyyr's question. "We do, Freyyr, and as I'm sure you're already aware, the creature is not one to trifle with. It is a creature of the Dark Side, and it is very dangerous."  
"A creature even the Jedi fear?" was the Wookiee's incredulous response.

"Most Jedi are smart enough to know when to be afraid, Freyyr," said Jolee in a wry tone of voice. "But this is no ordinary beast. It is big, fast, and powerful, and its hide is almost immune to the Force, rendering most of our abilities useless. Though there is no record in any history, some believe that terentateks were bred in some Sith laboratory, specifically for the purpose of killing Jedi."

"It also feeds on the blood for Force sensitives," Bastila added. "It's not just a Jedi hunter—it's a Jedi predator."

Freyyr regarded them for several moments before he spoke. "This beast is more than I had feared. My people know that it has been in the Shadowlands for many years, though exactly when it appeared we have no record. How can it be that a creature of the Jedi and the Sith is on Kashyyyk? There has never been a Jedi presence here."

"There is no way to know," said Jaran with a shrug. "Not much is known of terentateks, and they're not exactly easy to study."

"Then how are we to dispatch this creature?"

Jolee took over the discussion. "In the past, Jedi have hunted these creatures—termed by the Jedi as 'Great Hunts'—hoping to cause their extinction, particularly at times when the light side was waxing and the dark side waning. Though we have never managed to completely eradicate them, these hunts were conducted by Jedi who hunted terentateks in at least pairs." Jolee directed a knowing smirk at Jaran and Bastila. "And they were generally Force bonded, so they could better withstand the influence of the Dark Side and fight effectively, not being able to use any of their other abilities to defeat it."

The perceptive Wookiee did not miss Jolee's look, nor did he miss the implication behind his statement. Jaran ignored their gaze, focusing on Bastila who was in turn, watching him intently.

"We really must remain focused on our mission," said Bastila, and though she sounded earnest, doubt was swimming in her eyes. "Stopping Malak must be our first priority."

"And yet it is also a _Jedi's_ duty to aid those in need of aid, not to mention the standing order that terentateks are to be destroyed, or at the very least reported."

Bastila's brow furrowed, before she finally sighed and nodded her head. "Of course you are right." She then looked up and pierced Jaran with her gaze. "I suppose I do not need to tell you that this is _very_ dangerous. Even with the four of us, a terentatek is not to be taken lightly. It is very possible that one or more of us," she swept her gaze over the room, "will not survive."

"It is," Jolee acknowledged, his voice gruff, "but I do not know when I have been in the presence of two such powerful, and I believe skilled, Jedi. We can minimize the danger if we plan this confrontation correctly."

"We _must_ be careful!" Bastila urged once again, and Jaran knew that though she was considering the mission first and foremost, he could feel a small tendril of worry for _him_ as well. It warmed his heart that she had progressed to the point where she was comfortable with him and could worry about his wellbeing. "We can ill afford an injury to one of us which would require extended recuperation," she continued. "Equally, we cannot afford the sacrifice of one of our lives. Yes, we must help Freyyr's people, but Malak is still the first priority."

"Who is this Malak?" Freyyr asked suddenly.

Jaran shook his head. "We don't have time to go into this in any great detail now. I will only say that Malak is a Sith Lord who is trying to destroy the Republic and the Jedi, and we are on a mission which could lead to his defeat."

"Then your cause is a noble one," Freyyr replied with a bow. "In light of that, I thank you for your attention to the problems of my people. You truly have much honor."

Replying in kind, Jaran motioned the others closer and they began to speak of their plans. The day was progressing and if they were to defeat the terentatek, seek out the Star Map and return to Jolee's hut before the light failed, they had little time to lose.

* * *

As the day was waning, there was little time to create an elaborate plan or extensive preparations which would reduce the danger. Besides, though Jaran was certain the Wookiee would see the necessity to minimize the danger, he doubted that Freyyr's sense of honor would survive the kind of extensive trap he thought necessary to kill the beast and avoid any direct confrontation. Therefore they would lure the terentatek to them and attempt to take it out by force of numbers. Of course it went without saying that Jaran and Bastila would bear the brunt of the creature's attack, as they were the best equipped—being the youngest and fittest of the group, not to mention the benefits of their bond—to deal with the terentatek without being injured.

The thought of Bastila induced him to glance over to where she was walking by his side. Her face was a mask of concentration and she carried herself with a determination which was in actuality rather inspiring. Jaran had never met someone with such an iron will as Bastila, and regardless of her sometimes almost puritanical devotion to the Jedi code and her holier than thou speeches, he had become quite fond of her. Nothing would happen to her if he had anything to say about it.

Coincidentally—or not, considering the fact that the Wookiees had been challenging the terentatek for decades—there was a ritual area not far from the Wookiee's lair. The question of what had possessed him to base himself so near such a terrifying predator had elicited a simple response.

"The creature's lair is well known to both my people and by extension, the Czerka. My people avoid it, unless they intend to challenge the creature, and the Czerka avoid it altogether."

"Are you not worried that the creature will discover you?"

The Wookiee wuffed in response. "It does not even seem to care about my presence. I have no doubt that it would make a meal of me if I were to cross its path, but as long as I do not bring attention to myself and take care to ensure I do not attract its attention, it does not bother me."

The three Jedi exchanged a look. It was obvious that a new element of a terentatek's nature had been discovered. It did not overtly seek out a Wookiee even though he lived close by, but Jaran did not doubt that a Jedi in such close proximity for such a long period of time would not receive such a reprieve. Undoubtedly the presence of the Force in such a being would draw the alpha Force predator like a moth to the flame. In fact, Jolee might consider himself lucky that the terentatek had been largely inactive since his arrival on the planet and that he had not chosen a home closer to its lair.

"No, in case you are wondering, I have never seen it close to my home," Jolee said. "But since it seems to be more active now, perhaps it's a good thing we're going to get rid of it."

"It has been said that terentateks will often go dormant during periods in which the dark side wanes," Bastila spoke up. "With Revan and now Malak active in the galaxy and turning to the Sith ways, perhaps it is not surprising the creature is now active again."

"You may have been fortunate that it never sought you out," Jaran added.

Jolee merely gave them a sour look and continued walking. His ever-present irascibility was amusing to Jaran and, if the smile on her face was any indication, to Bastila too. She rolled her eyes as she continued to walk, while Jaran shook his head, glad to have someone else now part of the group who could assist in lightening the mood.

They continued on their way, making short work of a small colony of kinrath they passed along the way. It soon became evident that their encounter with the mindless beasts had not been an accident.

"We are close now," their Wookiee guide said, as they prepared to make their way from the site of their battle with the kinrath. He stopped and hoisted several of the spindly creatures' bodies on his shoulders and began to move again at a quicker pace. "The smell of death attracts the beast," he said, answering their unasked question. "We can use these bodies to draw it to us."

After only a few more moments, Freyyr slowed again and became extremely cautious. They turned a corner and Jaran immediately understood why. They had entered a large clearing with no obvious exits, appearing gloomy and spookier than normal in the dim light of the Shadowlands gloom. But what made it appear even worse was the obvious smell of death which pervaded the air, and the remains strewn haphazardly throughout the clearing. It was the rancor's lair on Taris, only much, much more sinister. A moment's thought made it clear to a worried Jaran—the rancor had been a fearsome creature to be certain, but it had not been evil, just true to its savage nature. The terentatek _was not natural_ in any sense of the word. It was an evil creature bred for destruction which killed because it gloried in it. Such a creature could not be allowed to exist; it was an abomination which had no business existing in a civilized galaxy. It must be destroyed.

They moved to a point near the entrance where a number of vines hung from the canopy above and Freyyr turned to face them.

"I will set the trap for the beast here," he rumbled. "How did you wish to deal with the creature once it comes?"

Considering the available space, Jaran turned to look at Bastila, noting her even expression in return—the Force bond certainly had its advantages as they were almost always of a like mind in situations like this. He did not doubt it would serve them well in the coming battle as well.

"Bastila and I will position ourselves to either side of the clearing entrance," Jaran decided after a moment. "Freyyr and Jolee can attack from back inside the clearing. Hopefully it won't sense you if you are far enough back."

"That's a bit of a gamble, isn't it?" Jolee questioned. "It will sense you as it enters the clearing. If you are separated, it will attack one of you, putting you at a serious disadvantage."

"I don't think that is how it works, Jolee," Bastila disagreed. "When we saw it when dealing with the Czerka, it completely ignored us and chased after them."

"I think it's still a beast at heart," Jaran added. "It will concentrate on what is immediately in front of it, and only pay attention to what it can sense through the Force if there is no other stimulus distracting it."

"And if it doesn't respond?" Bastila queried quietly.

Three sets of eyes swiveled to face the Wookiee who had led them to this point. Freyyr, seemingly unconcerned, just shrugged. "I cannot tell you if it will respond. In fact, more times than not, the creature has not been seen when the champions of my people have tried to challenge it.

"However, as it has begun to become more active recently, I believe the chances of it appearing are much greater. If it is anywhere nearby, it will approach once I have baited the trap."

"I think we should show a little optimism," Jaran interjected. "If the terentatek fails to appear, we can determine what we will do_ then_. Until it comes to that, speculation is pointless."

Jolee did not appear to be convinced, but he made no further argument. Jaran turned his attention back to the entire group.

"When it enters the clearing, I expect it will head straight for the kinrath in the vines. I will give it a moment to become fully distracted before I attack it from behind. With any luck, maybe I can end this quickly without any danger to any of us."

A series of snorts and shaken heads met his declaration, but he ignored them. Yes, he knew it was most likely wishful thinking on his part, but if there was any chance to end the threat without exposing his companions to danger, he would take it.

"After I have engaged the creature and _assuming_," he paused to direct a smirk at his companions, "I have not managed to dispatch the beast, Bastila will then attack it from the other side once I am engaged. Then Freyyr and Jolee can attack once we have its full attention. Is everyone clear?"

A series of nods met his question, and Jaran speared them all with a stern glare. "Remember—_no one_ moves until I do. And no heroics—I want every one of you to survive this. We do not need any martyrs for the cause."

With that final admonition, Freyyr immediately began to bait the trap. This largely consisted of him tearing the creatures he had carried limb from limb and strewing the remains along the path into the clearing. Disgusted by the display, Jaran turned his attention to the surrounding area, noticing that Bastila had already turned away and was investigating something she had found on the forest floor.

"Jaran, come look at this," she said.

Jaran approached and looked at the device she was holding in her hands, which had apparently been lying amongst some bones. It was a datapad—a model which appeared to be decades old, but still functioning.

"What do you make of this?" Bastila asked, handing the datapad to him.

Curiously, Jaran inspected the datapad and noting the dents and scratches upon its surface. Other than these minor imperfections, the datapad appeared to be largely intact, though bits of rust and a sheen of moisture on the inside of the screen spoke to the long period in which it had lain on the forest floor.

Jaran began to fiddle with the device, hoping to gain some information as to how it had come to rest in that location. It was a few moments before he was able to pull any information from it, and given its condition, Jaran was a little surprised that he had been able to get it to power up at all. It appeared to be a journal of some kind, and though most of the information it contained was lost, Jaran was able to pull up what appeared to be the final entry on the screen.

"Duran and Shaela have given in to their passion for each other, and are doomed to fall to the dark side. I tried to warn them against expressing their love, but they call me arrogant and accused me—ME!—of being the one on the dark path. I left the fools on Korriban. But I am not about to abandon the mandate given me by the Jedi Council. I will destroy the terentatek wherever I find them. I have heard rumors such a beast may exist in the Shadowlands of Kashyyyk. I shall go there and slay the beast, proving that I do not need either Duran or Shaela with me to defeat these creatures."

Turning to look at Bastila, Jaran noticed her troubled expression and wondered at it. "Bastila, are you all right?" he asked with some concern.

"I recognize those names, Jaran," was her reply. She continued to stare at the datapad, though Jaran knew she was not really seeing it, and her sense in the Force dimmed as he felt her close herself off from him, more by reflex than conscious thought, he suspected. She had not shut him out to this extent since the early days of their acquaintance.

"Bastila?"

Startled, Bastila's eyes shot to his and she searched his face for several moments before finally lowering her gaze once again and responding.

"I believe this is the journal of Guun Han Saresh," she finally told him.

"Who is that?"

Bastila's eyes flickered back up to his before she turned away once again. "Guun Han Saresh was one of the Jedi who were tasked with hunting down the remaining terentateks at the end of the last great hunt. He, along with Shaela Nuur and Duran Qel Droma disappeared during their hunt and were never heard from again. Though the masters on Coruscant felt them become one with the Force, no expedition was ever mounted to find them for fear of more losses. They vanished more than 35 years ago."

Turning back to the old datapad, Jaran noted the names and the fact that the author had specifically mentioned Korriban, and he turned back to Bastila, who was still avoiding his eyes. "I did not study the great hunts at the enclave as I did not think them important enough given the limited time I had. Is there something you have not told me which makes this significant?"

"Jaran, do you not see?" Bastila asked with an incredulous glare. "They failed because Duran and Shaela gave in to passion and fell to the dark side."

Raising an eyebrow at Bastila's statement, Jaran responded, "No, Bastila, it doesn't state that at all." Bastila's expression became even more agitated, but Jaran, knowing how she could get when she became excited, did not allow her to get started. "It simply states that they gave in to their passions and that he _thought_ they would fall to the dark side. It doesn't say that they actually did, as he left when he discovered their relationship."

"But Jaran, don't you see?" Bastila demanded. "They were fractured by the fact that these two Jedi betrayed the code. Shaela and Duran disappeared years ago and there is no doubt that they are dead. If they had remained true, they may have completed their mission without falling."

"I think we need to learn more before we speculate," replied Jaran in a quiet and gentle tone. "One of the Star Maps is on Korriban, so let's wait until we find something new. It is pointless to assume anything more, as our suppositions may be completely wrong."

Bastila appeared as though she would have preferred to disagree with him, but that that moment they heard Freyyr's urgent voice calling them and she simply nodded in agreement. Jaran did not believe for a moment that he had managed to change her mind, unsurprisingly, as he was certain with her ingrained trust in the code would not be easily changed. This seeming warning against passions and feelings would only strengthen that, he thought. But now was not the time to be considering it, as Freyyr had completed his preparations and the last of the kinrath now hung suspended from one of the vines.

"We should take our positions," he growled. "The beast has been known to appear within moments of the bait being placed."

Silently, the companions took their positions, Jaran at the closest corner to the entrance, as he wished to be as close to the monster when it arrived as he could conveniently contrive. If the fact that such a position meant that Bastila would need to take the other, more distant corner, and that it would keep her from the terentatek for a few more precious seconds, it was simply an added benefit in his mind. The sharp look Bastila threw him was ignored—as he told her before, they had to be protective of one another, given their situation together. And if she still was not used to such a close relationship, complete with an ardent protector—whether because of her Jedi upbringing or simply her innate tendency of being a loner—that was nothing to Jaran. She would eventually become used to it; in his mind she simply did not have a choice.

It seemed to comprise several hours before there was any movement in the forest, though in reality it was less than a quarter of an hour. Jaran was just musing on the fact that in a forest as alive as Kashyyyk, the fact that there was little to no animal presence was a testament to just how dangerous and feared the terentatek was, when his attention was captured by a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye, accompanied by the noise of something approaching. Though it was too far away to make any sense of the details in the dim light, Jaran soon began to discern the thumping of an animal's footsteps, approaching at an irregular pace, as though the creature were attempting to follow a trail, or acting with a modicum of caution. Suspecting from the sound and the manner of the creature's approach that it was no ordinary forest denizen, Jaran readied himself for battle, drawing his lightsabers and calling on the Force to discipline his mind to absolute calm, while at the same time sending a burst of caution through the bond to Bastila. The bond was useful in that it was possible to use their sensitivity to communicate with each other after a fashion, though they had not, as yet, been able to exchange words.

As he watched, Jaran saw as the creature suddenly materialized through the gloom, noting absently that it was indeed their quarry. It was walking on its hind legs as was its wont, though from time to time it stopped; when it did halt its advance, it would sit back on its haunches with one massive paw on the ground, as it tested the air going forward.

When it reached the first of the remains Freyyr had strewn out beyond the entrance to the clearing, it inspected them most thoroughly before swiping the limbs up and stuffing them into its maw with greedy movements. Clearly the creature fed on more than just the blood of Force sensitives, as Bastila had stated, which made sense given the fact that it had likely not made a meal of any Jedi since this Guun Han Saresh some three decades ago. Rather, Jaran suspected that it deepened its connection to the Force by feeding on Force sensitives and that it was actually able to subsist on the flesh of just about anything. It continued to follow the trail into the clearing, stopping just inside where it inspected the remains of the kinrath which hung suspended on the vine. It was when it reached up to grasp the body that Jaran took his cue to attack.

Calling on the Force, Jaran leapt the distance to the terentatek and, lightsabers ignited in mid flight, drove his blades deep into the terentatek's unprotected back. The terentatek let out a bellow of pain, laced with utmost rage, as it spun away from its attacker with surprising agility for a creature its size, not to mention the gaping wounds in its back which was leaking its life blood on the forest floor.

It swiped at Jaran as it turned to face him, which he avoided neatly by rolling under its massive paw. Coming to his feet, Jaran faced the creature and understood why terentateks were feared, even by the Jedi. The beast not only towered above him by more than a meter, but the feral light in its eyes was augmented by an almost maniacal gleam. The demented creature was not anything natural—of this Jaran was certain. The galaxy would certainly be a better place without this one.

Naturally, with the terentatek now facing him, it was Bastila's turn to attack, which she did without hesitation, only this time, the creature was wise to their strategy. Apparently, either sensing her movement, or her connection to the Force, the creature once again displayed its quickness as it pivoted and avoided the yellow blurs of Bastila's dual bladed saber. As it maneuvered to one side, it immediately turned and with blinding speed, attacked Bastila, who danced out of the way. Jaran used the creature's focus on the female Jedi to launch an attack of his own, as he darted forward, aiming at the terentatek's legs to try to incapacitate it. It was once again too quick and seemed to possess an almost preternatural ability to sense him as it broke off its attack and sidled away from Jaran's blades.

Jaran and Bastila exchanged glances and, reading his intentions mirrored in her eyes, he moved to the side even as she did, as they bracketed the terentatek, forcing it to confront two separate targets. The terentatek, however, clearly possessed an intelligence beyond that of a simple beast, as it moved deeper into the clearing to avoid facing one Jedi on either side, all the while it grunted and roared at them with rage.

Jaran feinted at the beast, while Bastila, once again sensing him, jumped forward, her blades whirling, forcing it to scuttle deeper into the clearing. As he intended, Jolee and Freyyr used the distraction to launch attacks of their own. As before, the sound of the Wookiee's undulating battle cry was almost unnerving, but Jaran ignored it and waded in from behind with his lightsaber swinging when the terentatek turned to face this new threat. Unfortunately, Freyyr was crazed by battle lust and charged in a little too quickly and without restraint, earning a swipe from a massive paw which sent him tumbling across the uneven ground of the clearing for his trouble. In the moment when the terentatek was fully focused on him, however, Jaran managed to get close enough to deal a large gash to the back of its leg with his lightsaber. He darted away as the terentatek roared in pain, feeling the air whoosh over his head from the beasts counterstrike.

"Be careful!" Jolee's command rang out over the clearing. "This creature is almost unbelievably quick!"

"You think?" Jaran muttered sarcastically, earning a quick grin from Bastila as she warily circled.

The beast eyed them all as they spread out to the points of an equal triangle, forcing the terentatek to lose sight of one of them. Its speed and quickness were beyond anything Jaran had ever witnessed, as Jolee had so ineloquently stated, but what amazed Jaran even more was the terentatek's ability to track them, even when it could not see them. Clearly, its reputation as a Force hunter was not overestimated.

Apparently, however, patience was not a strong point of the creature, as it watched them for only a few seconds before feinting in Jolee's direction, before spinning to move on Bastila instead. The diminutive Jedi spun away from the terentatek, pulling it along with her, as Jolee and Jaran moved to attack it from behind. But the monster then showed its cunning as it only followed her for a few moments before suddenly reversing and attacking Jaran as he moved in from behind. Darting quickly to the side, Jaran rolled under the swinging paw of the creature, though he managed to bring one of his lightsabers up in the act and catch the paw as it whistled over his head, cutting deep into the thick wrist. The terentatek roared with rage and pain, and doubled its efforts to get at the stinging gnats who were avoiding it.

By this time, Freyyr had recovered himself and flung himself back into the battle, though with more prudence than he had shown last time. His furious blows, however, had little effect on the terentatek, as it avoided him, and deflected the slashes that it could not avoid. However, the creature was now obviously favoring its front left paw, as well as the other injuries that Jaran had managed to inflict—regardless of the outcome of this particular battle, Jaran suspected that it would never use that paw effectively again.

The battle settled into a bit of a lull, where the combatants sat back and gauged their enemy, taking stock of strengths and weaknesses, feinting occasionally, yet mostly content to test the opponent with nothing more than probing attacks. The terentatek peered at them all malevolently, clearly assessing them all in whatever passed for its diseased mind. Jaran would not have believed the beast could be so ferocious and skilled, regardless of what he had read and been told, without having seen it in action. Anyone in his right mind was completely correct in fearing this creature. He doubted that its equal existed anywhere in the galaxy for sheer cunning, ferocity, and viciousness.

"All right everyone," Jaran spoke up after several moments of comparative inaction, "distract its attention away from me so I can get a clear shot of its head from behind."

"With all those spikes?" Bastila demanded. He could almost feel the incredulous disbelief behind her statement. "Are you crazy, Jaran? You'll never get past them."

The beast, however, was not idle during their conversation. Sensing, perhaps, that Freyyr was not a Force sensitive and therefore, not as much of a threat, it charged the big Wookiee, seemingly seeking to put him out of the fight quickly. Freyyr retreated, his vibrosword a blur of motion as he fought to keep the creature from him, even as Jolee moved in from the side to support and distract the beast.

Jaran and Bastila moved to further confront it from the rear when the creature, with an even greater feat of agility, pivoted and bore down on Bastila, who was now forced to retreat from it, her lightsaber vibrating in the air. The creature roared as one of her blades caught it deeply in the side, but unfortunately, the Jedi was unable to escape unscathed. A hint of pain entered Jaran's mind over the bond and he felt that the creature had managed to get a hit in on her side as she jumped away.

Snarling and enraged almost beyond reason, Jaran crouched and, drawing in the Force as he never had before, he sprang up high over the creature's head, seeming to almost halt in midair before he began his descent. He lowered his dual lightsabers and fell down on the beast, sinking them deeply into the terentatek's head like a vertical battering ram.

The beast stopped and swayed for a moment, its head telling its body that something was wrong with it, before its eyes rolled up and it crashed heavily to the ground, Jaran leaping away as it did so.

For a moment all was silent in the clearing, a testament, perhaps, of the slaying of a freakish aberration against the very nature of the galaxy. Within moments of the end of the battle, however, Jaran was moving, approaching Bastila, who stood in the clearing staring at the creature, and panting deeply with a hand pressed against her side.

"Bastila," he called gently, luring her attention away from the fallen predator, "you're hurt."

Searching his eyes, the female Jedi sighed and deactivated her lightsaber. "It's only a scratch."

"A scratch that could contain the terentatek's poison," Jolee's rough voice rang out as he approached them.

"Jolee's right," Jaran continued. "Let me have a look."

Nodding, Bastila move the hand which had been covering her side, just above her hip. Jaran knelt beside her and drew the ragged tear in her tunic aside so he could examine the wound. It was, as she had said, only a scratch, perhaps ten centimeters long, and no more than a millimeter or two deep. But whereas a normal scratch would have bled profusely, but nothing more, this one was already beginning to turn red around the edges—the terentatek's poison was already at work.

"It's a good thing I brought some antidote," Jaran muttered while rummaging in his sack. Knowing there were all types of creatures—some quite venomous—on Kashyyyk's surface, Jaran had ensured they had an ample supply of anti-venom before they had left on this mission. It appeared that his foresight and caution was amply rewarded.

Directing Jolee to bring a makeshift chair so that he could work effectively while she rested, Jaran set about preparing his supplies, knowing that terentatek poison was very quick acting. It was only a moment later when Jolee levitated a small stump he had cut from a nearby dead branch. "Have a seat, Bastila," he suggested. "This should only take a moment."

For once Bastila did not argue—she sat down as she was directed, while letting out a sigh of relief. Her manner told him the poison was affecting her, even if the pain he felt through the bond had not told him so.

Working quickly and efficiently, Jaran had cleansed the wound and injected her with the antidote before finally binding the scratch up with a bandage liberally coated with kolto.

"That should do the trick," Jaran pronounced after he had finished. "It will likely be sore as the residual effects of the poison are purged from your system."

"Thank you, Jaran," Bastila replied in a quiet voice. "I am well."

Jaran grinned back at her. "Next time maybe you won't be quite so slow."

"I will attempt to move more quickly in the future," was her droll reply.

During their activities, Freyyr had not been idle. Calling them over, he requested their assistance with removing the sought after blade from the back of the beast's head, as it was embedded, and the creature's tissue had grown around it, holding it in place firmly. A few precise lightsaber cuts later and the blade came free. The Wookiee was obviously affected by finally holding the venerable blade in his hands, as he looked at it with some awe. It had come at a price—a small price notwithstanding—but now they had obtained it, and the means to rescue Zaalbar and restore Freyyr was now within their grasp.

By unspoken agreement they left the clearing soon after, as none of them wanted to remain within the confines of that charnel house with the body of the freshly slain terentatek moldering on the ground. They made their way back to the Wookiee's hideaway, Jaran now eager to move on with the rest of their quest.

"So what now?" Jolee asked as they settled in for a bit of a rest.

"We take the blade back to the village and confront my black-hearted son," Freyyr growled.

"We have another task down here," Jaran disagreed. "The Star Map is close?" he continued, addressing Jolee.

"No more than a half hour away," was Jolee's gruff reply.

"Then we'll make for the Star Map and then return to the surface."

"I care not what you do in the Shadowlands," said Freyyr. Though the manner in which his declaration was delivered could have caused offense, Jaran was well aware of the Wookiee's priorities and knew that great galactic conflicts which were not endangering his people were of no consequence next to the immediate threat of Chuundar and the Czerka. "I shall not accompany you. Instead, I shall prepare myself for the trial ahead in the manner of my people."

"We understand, Freyyr," Jaran responded with a nod. "We will go to the Star Map and return for you on the way back."

"There is no need. I will return to my people in my own way—I have no need of swinging platforms, as I am able to climb the trees. I will join you on the way."

"If I might make a suggestion," Jolee interjected, continuing when Jaran acquiesced. "It is getting late in the day and it will take us the remaining available light to get to the Star Map and return to my hut. Surely one more day makes no difference—we should hole up for the night and rest before we confront Chuundar tomorrow morning."

Jaran exchanged a glance with both Bastila—who nodded, even as he felt a ghost of the pain in her side echo over the bond—and Freyyr. The old Wookiee regarded the company before he let out a wuff of approval.

"Very prudent indeed, my friend," he rumbled. "I shall meet you on the path back to my village in the morning."

Frowning, Jaran regarded the Wookiee. "Shouldn't you stay here and then go to the surface with us? If you are seen and captured by Chuundar's followers, this has all been for nothing."

Chuckling, the Wookiee shook his head. "I may not be as young as I once was, but I was amongst the best of our hunters in my youth. I still retain enough of my skills that none will see me unless I want them to. Your caution is good, but unwarranted in this instance."

Jaran took the Wookiee's words for what they were: assurance and warning—assurance that Freyyr knew what he was doing, and a warning that though the initial question did not offend, further queries would call into question the Wookiee's honor and abilities, and were to be avoided.

"Very well, then." Jaran turned to Bastila. "Are you able to continue, or would you like to rest while Jolee and I visit the map?"

Bastila rolled her eyes and her look suggested that she thought Jaran to be mentally deficient. "I'm sure I can manage a walk to the Star Map—especially when we still have a two hour hike just to return to our lodgings for the evening."

Again, Jaran decided that discretion was the best policy and nodded his head, not pursuing the matter further. Instead, he glanced around the room, meeting the eyes of each of his companions in turn.

"In that case, we appear to have a plan. We should be about our business."

After bidding farewell to the big Wookiee, the three Jedi stepped from the sanctuary and began the short hike to the location of the Star Map. Throughout their journey, Jaran kept one eye on the surrounding woods, and one eye on his bond mate, watching her for any signs that the scratch was giving her trouble or that the venom had not been completely neutralized. Thankfully, he could detect nothing in either her manner or her sense through the bond that she was experiencing any difficulty. And though she was clearly aware of his scrutiny—by the pointed looks she gave him, and the slight sense of irritation over the bond—she said nothing of it. The little signs of her displeasure did nothing, of course, to halt his watchfulness.

Even more than that, Jaran sensed that her disquiet over what they had discovered in the terentatek's clearing with the Jedi's datapad was bothering her far more than the minor scratch which had already been dealt with. He was certain it would come into their discussion once again and privately Jaran cursed their find—Bastila had made a lot of progress in loosening up, and this would likely set her back again. He was not looking forward to the reappearance of the Jedi ice queen she had been when he had first met her on Taris.

Knowing there was nothing he could do to ease the situation Jaran deliberately pushed such thoughts away, concentrating on his surroundings. It was as Jolee said—no more than thirty minutes after leaving Freyyr's home, and travelling through an extremely quiet section of the forest, when Jaran began to see a bluish, silvery glow off in the distance. The glow brightened as they drew nearer until they turned a corner and suddenly in front of them, there appeared a familiar inverted tripod device, and a hologram of an unknown alien. It appeared they had arrived.

* * *

**A/N: **Again, thanks to everyone who has followed this story. One more chapter and Kashyyyk should be finished. This chapter was actually completed over a week ago, but I fiddled with it over and over. Enough is enough!


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